V^ 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


I^IM    |2.5 

■^  yiH    i22 

1.8 


U    ill  1.6 


III 


V] 


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fliotographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


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rv 


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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


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which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
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the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


n 


□ 


D 


D 
D 


D 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 


I      I    Covers  damaged/ 


D 


Couverture  endommagde 


Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaurde  et/ou  pelHculde 


□    Cover  title  missing/ 
Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 

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Cartes  gdographiques  en  couleur 


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Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


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une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  mdthode  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiquds  ci-dessous. 


D 
D 
D 
D 
D 


Coloured  pages/ 
Pages  de  couleur 

Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommag^es 

Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pages  restaurdes  et/ou  pelliculdes 

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Pages  detached/ 
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r~>  Showthrough/ 


Transparence 

Quality  of  prir 

Quality  indgale  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  materia 
Comprend  du  materiel  suppl^mentaire 


rr^  Quality  of  print  varies/ 

I      I    Includes  supplementary  material/ 


D 

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Only  edition  available/ 
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Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
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obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


This  item  is  filmed  at  t>.e  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  film6  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqud  ci-dessous. 


10X 

14X 

18X 

22X 

26X 

SOX 

x 

12X 


16X 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


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first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
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The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  ■^»>  (meaning  "CON- 
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whichever  applies. 

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beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


1 

2 

3 

L'exemplaire  film6  fut  reproduit  grace  A  la 
ginirosit^  de: 

Thomas  Fisher  Rare  Book  Library, 
University  of  Toronto  Library 

Les  images  suivantes  ont  6ti  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettet6  de  i'exemplaire  filmd,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 

Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprim6e  sont  film6s  en  commencant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
derniire  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  filmds  en  commencant  par  la 
premiikre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  solvents  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  -^  signifie  "A  SUIVRE  ",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 

Les  cartas,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
filmis  A  des  taux  de  reduction  diff6rents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  cliche,  il  est  film6  d  partir 
de  Tangle  sup6rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite. 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  nicessaire.  Les  diagrammes  solvents 
illustrent  la  mithode. 


32X 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

POPULAR  NOVELS 


BY 


MAY  AGNES  FLEMING 


NORINE'S  REVENGE. 
A  WIFE'S  TRAGEDY. 
A  CHANGED  HEART. 
PRIDE  AND  PASSION. 
SHARING  HER  CRIME. 
A  WRONGED  WIFE. 
MAUDE  PERCY'S  SECRET. 
THE  ACTRESS*  DAUGHTER. 
THE  QUEEN  OF  THD  IFLE. 
THE  MIDNIGHT  QUEEN. 
EDITH  PERCIVAL. 
WEDDED  FOR  PIQUE. 
A  FATEFUL  ABDUCTION. 
THE  SISTERS  OF  TORWOOD. 

Mrs.  Fleming's  stories  have  always  been  eatremely 
popular.  Their  delineations  of  character,  lifelike 
conversations,  the  flashes  of  wit,  their  constantly 
varying  scenes  and  deeply  interesting  plots  combine 
to  place  their  author  in  an  enviable  position,  which 
is  still  maintained  despite  the  tremendous  onrush  of 
modem  novelists.  No  more  brilliant  or  stirring 
novels  than  hers  have  ever  been  published,  and, 
strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  seeber  after  romance 
to-day  reads  these  books  as  eagerly  as  did  our 
mothers  when  they  first  appeared. 

Bound  in  cloth,  Price  50  cts.  each,  and  sent  free 
by  mail  on  receipt  of  price,  by 

G.  W.  DILLINGHAM  CO., 

Publishers 
NEW  YORK 


THE 


Actress'  Daughter. 


31  JStmA. 


BY 


MAY  AGNES  FLEMING, 


AUTHOR  OF 


••  Silent  and  True,"    "  A  Mad    Marriage,"    "  Lost 

FOR  a  Woman,"  **  A  Wonderful  Woman,"  "  Guy 

Earlscourt's  Wife,"  **  One  Night's  Mystery,  " 

«*A  Terrible  Secret,"  Etc.,  Etc. 


*'  Who  that  had  seen  her  form  so  light. 
For  swiftness  only  turned, 
Would  e'er  have  thought  in  a  thing  so  slight* 
Such  a  fiery  spirit  burned  ?" 


^ 


G. 


NEW    YORK: 

'   DiUinghciM    Co.,    PuUisheift, 


OOFTBiaHT,  188S,  B7 
a  W>  CARLETON  *  Oa 


CONTENTS. 


I.    ChriitmM  ICre •••  ^ 

IL     The  Aotress—Little  Georgia ** 

HI.     A  Young  Tornado *• 

IV.     Georgia  makes  some  n«w  Acquaintances. M 

V.     "Lady  Macbeth." «'' 

VL     Taming  an  Eaglet 8$ 

VII.    Georgia's  Dream •• 

Vm     *'  Coming  Events  Cast  their  Shadows  Before.'' 114 

IX.    Old  Friends  Meet. IM 

X.     Dreaming • 1^ 

XI.    Something  New IW 

XIL    Richmond  House  gets  a  MistreM.. . .   171 

XIIL    Awakening .•.,..1S4 

XTV.    A  Dream  Coming  True 


•-•-•-*  •-•-•  < 


XV.    Bowing  the  Wind «... •!• 


fi  CONTBNn 

Cfcipiw.  Fage 

ZYL    RMping  the  Whirlwind 3^ 

XVn.    Ctone 250 

ZVm.    The  Dawa  of  Another  Day Wt 

XTX.    DeeoUtion 288 

XX.    Found  and  Loet 298 

XXL    Cherley'e  Crime. 814 

XXTT.    TheSunRiMi. ' 880 

XXm.    Orer  the  World. 840 

XXIV.    AtLut 864 

XXV.  **  After  Tenn  and  Weeping,  He  Ponreth  in  Joy- 

fttlneas.". 860 

,  XXVL    **LMtS^noof  A1L^ ^ •^•.^....  8tS 

\ 

.  I       FFB  9     1972 

'".-'•/.  '^V)>  /J 


THE  ACTRESS^  DAUGHTER, 


CHAPTER  L 


0HBISTHA8    BTB. 

**  Hmp  OQ  more  wood  I  the  wind  if  chill; 
Bat  let  it  whistle  as  it  will, 
We*ll  keep  our  Christmas  merry  stilL*' — SOOTT 

I  OR !  Lor  I  what  a  night  it  is  any  way.  Sinof 
I  was  first  born,  and  that's  thirty-five — no, 
forty-five  years  come  next  June,  I  never 
heern  sich  win'  as  that  there,  fit  to  tear  the 
roof  off  !  Well,  this  is  Christmas  £i 
and  we  ginerally  do  hev  a  spell  o'  weather  'bout 
time.  Here  you  Fly  I  Fly  !  you  little  black  imp  you  1  if 
you  don't  stop  that  falling  asleep  over  the  fire,  and  stir 
your  lazy  stumps,  I'll  tie  you  up  and  give  you  such  a 
switchin'  as  you  never  had  in  all  your  born  days.  Ar-r-r-r  I 
there  I  vow  to  Sam  if  that  derned  old  tabby  cat  hain't  got 
her  nose  stuck  into  the  apple  sass  !  Scat  1  you  husbj  I 
Fly-y-y  I  you  ugly  little  black  ace-o'-spades  I  mil  you  wake 
up  afore  I  twist  youi  neck  for  you  ?" 

And  the  speaker  of  this  spirited  addrese— a  UU,  thm^ 


Eye, 
liliit 


VMBISTMAS    EVE. 


pasteboard  female,  as  erect  as  a  ramrod  and  as  flat  as  a 
shingle,  with  a  hard,  uncompromising   face,  and  a  hawk- 
like gray  eye,  cought  hold  of  the  drowsy  little  darkey  nod 
ding  ir  the  chimney-corner,  and  shook  her  as  if  she  had 
been  a  dourishing  little  fruit  tree  in  harvest  time. 

"  P-please,  Miss  Jerry,  'scuse  me — I  didn't  go  for  to  do 
it,''  stammered  Fly,  with  a  very  wide-awake  and  startled 
face.  "  I  wasn't  asleep,  old  Mist — " 

"  Oh  !  you  wasn't  asleep,  old  Mist  —  wasn't  you," 
sneered  Miss  Jerusha  Glory  Ann  Skamp,  the  sonorous  and 
high-sounding  title  claimed  by  the  antiquated  maiden  lady 
as  her  rightful  property  ;  "  you  wasn't  asleep  wasn't  you  ? 
Oh,  no  !  in  course  you  wasn't !  You  never  sleep  at  all,  do 
yon  ?  Betsey  Periwinkle  never  runs  off  with  the  meat, 
and  the  cold  vittals,  or  drinks  the  milk,  or  pokes  her  nose 
into  the  apple  sass,  or  punkin  slap-jack,  while  you're  a 
•noozin'  in  the  corner,  does  she  ?  Ain't  you  'shamed  o' 
yourself,  you  nasty  little  b?ack  Jiage,  to  stand  up  there 
and  talk  to  one  as  has  been  a  mother  to  you  year  in  and 
year  out,  like  that  ?  Ar  Lor'  I  there  ain't  nothin'  but  un- 
gratytood  in  this  'ere  world.  Betsey  Periwinkle,  you  ugly 
brute  I  I  see  you  a  lookin'  at  the  apple  sass,  but  just  let 
me  ketch  you  at  it  agin,  that's  all !  Oh,  my  stars  and 
thingumbobs  !  the  way  I'm  afflicted  with  that  lazy  little 
nigger  and  that  thievin'  cat,  and  me  a  poor  lone  woman 
too  I  If  it  ain't  enough  to  make  a  body  go  and  do  some- 
thing to  themselves  I  should  adm>e  to  know  wb«t  is. 
Here,  you  Fly  !  jump  up  and  fry  the  pancakes  for  supper, 
and  put  the  tea  to  draw,  and  set  that  johnny-oake  in  the 
oven,  and  then  set  the  table,  and  don't  be  lazin'  around 
like  a  singed  cat  all  the  time." 

Anl  having  delivered  herself  of  these  oommands  all  in 


CER18TMAB   EVE, 


») 


a 


4 


ft  brefttb,  with  the  air  of  a  Napoleon  In  petticoats,  Miss 
Jerusha  marched,  with  the  tramp  of  a  grenadier,  out  of 
the  kitchen  into  the  "  best  room,"  drew  several  yards  of 
stocking  from  an  apparently  bottomless  pocket  deposited 
herself  gingerly  in  the  embraces  of  a  cushioned  rocking 
chair,  the  only  sort  of  embrace  Miss  Jerusha  had  any  faith 
in,  and  began  knitting  away  as  if  the  fate  of  nations 
depended  on  it. 

And  while  she  sits  there,  straight,  rigid,  and  erect  as  a 
church  steeple,  let  me  describe  her  and  the  house  itself 
more  minutely. 

A  New  England  "  best  room  I"  Who  does  not  know 
what  it  looks  like?  The  shining,  yellow-painted  floor, 
whereon  no  sacrilegious  speck  of  dust  ever  rests  ;  the  six 
stiff-backed,  cane-seated  chairs,  standing  around  like  grim 
sentinels  on  duty,  in  the  exact  position  to  an  inch  wherein 
they  have  stood  ever  since  they  were  chairs  ;  the  huge 
black  chest  of  drawers  that  looms  up  dark  and  ominous 
between  the  two  front  windows,  those  windows  themselves 
glittering,  shining,  flashing,  perfect  jewels  of  cleanliness, 
protected  from  flies  and  other  "  noxious  insects  "  by  stiff, 
rustling  green  paper  blinds  ;  the  table  opposite  the  fire- 
place, whereon  lies,  in  solemn,  solitary  grandeur,  a  large 
family  Bible,  Fox's  Book  of  Martyrs,  the  Pilgrim's  Prog- 
ress, and  Robinson  Crusoe. 

Miss  Jerusha,  being  frightfully  sensible,  as  ladies  of  a 
certain  age  always  are,  looked  upon  all  works  of  fiction 
with  a  steady  contempt  too  intense  for  words;  and  there- 
fore Robinson  Crusoe  had  remained  as  unmolested  on  the 
table  as  he  had  in  his  sea-girt  island  from  the  day  a  deluded 
friend  had  presented  it  to  her  until  the  present  hour.  In 
fact,  Miss  Jerusha  Skamp  did  not  affect  literature  of  any 
1* 


10 


0ME18TMA8 


I 

r  1 


kind  muoh,  and  looked  upon  reading  as  a  downright  wasU 
of  time  and  patience.  On  Sundays,  it  is  true,  she  con- 
sidered it  a  religious  duty  to  spell  through  a  chapter  in  the 
Bible,  beginning  at  the  first  of  Genesis,  and  marching 
right  through,  in  spite  of  all  obstacles,  to  the  end  of  Reve- 
lations— a  f«at  she  had  once  performed  in  her  life,  and 
was  now  half  way  through  again.  The  hard  words  and 
proper  names  in  the  Old  Testament  were  a  serious  trial  to 
Mis3  Jerusha,  and,  combined  with  the  laziness  of  her  little 
negro  maid  Fly,  and  the  dishonest  propensities  of  her  oat 
Periwinkle,  were  the  chief  troubles  and  tribulations  of  her 
life.  Miss  Jerusha's  opinion  was  that  it  would  have  been 
just  as  easy  for  the  children  of  Israel  to  have  been  born 
John  Smith  or  Peter  Jones  as  Shadrack,  Meshach  and 
Abednego,  and  a  great  deal  easier  for  posterity.  Next 
to  the  Bible,  Fox*s  "  Book  of  Martyrs  "  was  a  work  wherein 
Miss  Jerusha's  soul  delighted,  and  wonderful  was  her 
appreciation  and  approval  of  the  ghastly  pictures  which 
embellished  that  saintly  volume.  ''The  Pilgrim's  Prog- 
ress" she  passed  over  with  sclent  contempt  as  a  book 
"  nobody  could  see  the  pint  of." 

Besides  the  best  room.  Miss  Jernsha's  cottage  contained 
a  kitchen  about  the  size  of  a  well-grown  bandbox,  and 
overhead  there  were  two  sleeping  apartments,  one  occupied 
by  that  ancient  vestal  herself,  and  the  other  used  as  a  store- 
room and  lumber-room  generally. 

Fly  and  Betsey  Periwinkle  sought  their  repose  and 
shakedown  before  the  kitchen  fire,  being  enjoined  each 
night  before  she  left  them  by  Miss  Jerusha  to  "  keep  an 
eye  on  the  house  and  things;"  but  as  Fly  generally  snored 
from  the  moment  the  last  flutter  of  Miss  Jerusha's  dress 
disappeared  until  a  sound  shaking  from  that  lady  awoke 


CEmSTMAB    BVML 


11 


lier  next  morning,  and  Betsey  Periwinkle,  after  indalgin|f 
in  a  series  of  short  naps,  amased  herself  with  reconnoiter 
ing  tne  premises  and  feloniously  purloining  everything  she 
could  lay  her  paws  on  that  seemed  to  be  good  and  eatable, 
it  is  to  be  supposed  the  admonitions  were  not  very  rigidly 
attended  to.  There  was  not  much  danger  of  robbers,  how- 
ever, for  the  cottage  was  situated  nearly  two  miles  from 
any  other  habitation,  on  the  very  outskirts  of  the  flour- 
ishing township  of  Burnfield,  a  spot  lonely  and  isolated 
enough  to  suit  even  the  hermit-like  taste  of  Miss  Jerusha. 

The  back  windows  of  the  cottage  commanded  a  view 
of  the  sea,  spreading  away  and  away  until  lost  in  the  hori- 
Eon  beyond.  From  the  front  was  seen  the  forest  path 
lonely  and  silent,  with  the  dark  pine  woods  bounding  the 
vision  and  extending  away  for  miles.  In  the  rear  of  the 
house  was  a  small  garden,  filled  in  summer  with  vegetables 
of  all  sorts,  and  the  product  of  this  garden  formed  the 
principal  source  of  Miss  Jerusha's  income.  The  old  maid 
was  not  rich  by  any  means,  but  with  the  vegetables  and 
poultry  she  raised  herself,  the  stockings  she  knit,  the  cloth 
she  wove,  the  wool  she  dyed,  the  candy  she  made  and  sold 
to  the  Burnfield  grocers,  and  the  sewing  she  <<  took  in*'  she 
managed  to  live  comfortably  enough  and  "  lay  up  some- 
thing," as  she  said  herself,  "  for  a  rair  y  day  " — a  figure  of 
speech  which  was  popularly  supposed  to  refer  to  times  of 
adversity  and  old  age. 

A  strong-minded,  clear-headed,  sharp-tongned,  wide- 
awake, uncompromising  specimen  of  f emaledom  ''  away 
down  east "  was  Miss  Jerusha.  Never  since  tLe  time  she 
had  first  donned  pantalettes,  and  had  ''  swopped  "  her  rag 
doll  for  Mary  Ann  Brown's  china  mug,  could  that  respect- 
able individual,  the  oldest  inhabitant,  recollect  any  occasion 


It 


OHRIBTMAa   BVB, 


i 


< , 


wherein  Miss  Jerusba  had  not  got  the  best  of  the  bargain^ 
whatever  that  bargain  might  be.  Though  never  remark- 
able at  any  time  for  her  personal  beauty,  yet  traditioL  averred 
that  her  thriftiness  and  smartness  had  on  one  or  two  occa- 
sions so  far  captivated  certain  Jonathans  of  her  district,  th&t 
they  had  gallantly  tendered  their  heart,  hand  and  brand 
new  swallow-tails.  But  looking  upon  mankind  as  an  inferior 
race  of  animals,  made  more  for  ornament  than  use,  Miss  Je- 
rusha  had  contemptuously  refused  them,  and  had  marched 
on  with  grim  determination  through  the  vale  of  years  in 
her  single  blessedness  up  to  her  present  mature  age  of  five- 
and-forty. 

The  personal  appearance  of  the  lady  could  hardly  be 
called  prepossessing  at  first  sight,  or  at  second  sight  either, 
for  that  matter.  Unusually  tall,  and  unusually  thin,  Miss 
Jemsha  looked  not  unlike  a  female  hop-pole,  and  her  figure 
was  not  to  say  improved  by  her  dress,  which  never  could 
be  persuaded  to  approach  her  ankles,  and  was  so  narrow 
that  a  long  step  seemed  rathei-  a  hazardous  experiment. 
Her  hair,  which  was  of  a  neutral  tint  between  red  and 
orange,  a  vague  hue  commonly  known  as  "  carroty,"  was 
disfigured  by  no  cap  or  other  sort  of  headgear,  but  tethered 
into  a  tight  knot  behind,  and  then  forcibly  secured.  Her 
face  looked  not  unlike  that  of  a  yellow  parchment  image 
as  she  there  sat  knitting  iL  the  red  firelight,  rocking  herself 
back  and  forward  in  a  rheumatic  old  chair  that  kept  up  a 
horrible  crechy-crawchy  as  she  squeaked  back  and  forth. 

The  night  was  Christmas  Eve,  and  unusually  wild  and 
stormy,  even  for  that  season.  The  wind  blew  in  terrible 
gusts,  shrieking  wildly  through  the  bare  arms  of  the  pines, 
drifting  the  snow  into  great  hills,  and  driving  the  piercing 
sleet   clamorously  against  the   windows.    Miss  JemshA 


CHRISTMAS   EVB. 


It 


drew  closer  to  the  fire,  with  a  shiver,  and  paused  for  a 
moment  to  listen  to  the  wild  winter  storm. 

"  My  gracious  1  what  a  blast  o'  win'  that  there  was. 
Ef  the  old  Satin  ain't  been  let  loose  to-night  my  name's  not 
Jerusba  Skamp.  Go  out  and  bring  in  some  more  wood, 
Fly,  and  don't  let  Betsey  Periwinkle  eat  the  tea  things 
while  you're  gone.  My-y-y  conscience !  how  it  blows — 
getting  worse  and  worse  every  minute  too.  If  there's  any 
fi-rlps  on  the  river  to-night  the  first  land  they  make  will  be 
the  bottom,  or  I'm  no  judge.  And  I  onghter  be,  I  thinky'* 
said  Miss  Jerusha,  administering  a  kick  to  Betsey  Peri- 
winkle, as  that  amiable  quadruped  began  some  friendly 
advances  toward  her  ball  of  stocking  yam,  "  seein'  I've 
lived  here  since  I  was  born,  and  that's  for^y-five  years 
come  next  June.  I  should  not  wonder  now  if  some 
shiftless,  good-for-nothing  vagabones  was  to  'low  themselvet 
for  to  get  ketched  in  the  storm  and  come  to  me  to  let  'em 
in  and  keep  'em  all  night.  Well,  Miss  Jerusha,  don't  yon 
think  you  see  yourself  adoing  of  it  though  !  People  seems 
to  think  I  was  made  specially  by  Providence  to  'tend  onto 
'em  and  make  yarb  tea  for  them  to  swaller  as  is  sick,  and 
look  arter  them  as  is  well,  whenever  they  get  ketched  in 
a  storm,  or  a  nightmare,  or  anything.  Humph  !  I  guess 
nobody  never  seen  any  small  sand,  commonly  called  mite 
stones,  in  my  eyes,  and  never  will  if  I  can  help  it.  What 
on  airth  keeps  that  there  little  black  viper  now,  I  wonder. 
T<m,  Fly  I" 

"  Yes,  old  Mist,  here  I  is,"  answered  Fly,  coming  blni* 
tering  in  like  a  sabb  goddess  of  the  wind,  loaded  down 
with  wood.  "An'  oh.  Miss  Jerry,  all  de  gnosis  as  eber 
was  is  ober  in  dat  ar  inferally  ole  house  'long  the  road." 

'* Ghosts!  ttghl"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  with  a  oontempto- 


14 


CEB18TMA8   BW. 


i 


.A 

tA    i 


oas  snarl,  for  the  worthy  spinster  despised  "  ^irits  from 
the  vasty  deep"  as  profoundly  as  she  did  mankind.  Don't 
make  a  greater  fool  o'  yourr>elf,  you  misfortnnate  little 
nat'ral  you,  than  the  Lord  himsolf  made  you.  Put  some 
wood  on  the  fire,  and  be  off  and  hurry  up  supper." 

"  Miss  Jerry,  I  'clear  I  seed  it  own  bressed  self,"  pro- 
tested Fly,  with  horror-stricken  eyes.  "  I  jes  did,  as  plain 
as  I  see  you  now,  an'  if  as  how  you  doesn't  believe  me, 
Miss  Jerry,  go  and  look  for  yourself." 

"  Lord  bless  the  child!  what  is  she  talking  about  ?" 
■aid  Miss  Jerusha,  turning  around  so  sharply  that  little 
Fly  jumped  back  in  alarm. 

"  Ghosts,  Miss  Jerry,"  whimpered  the  poor  little  darkey. 

"Ghosts!  Fly,  look  here!  Tou  want  me  to  switch 
you  within  an  inch  o'  your  life,"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  laying 
down  her  knitting  and  compressing  her  lips. 

"  Miss  Jerry,  I  can't  help  it;  I  jes  can't.  £f  you're  to 
kill  me,  I  did  see  'em,  too,  and  you  can  see  'em  yerself  ef 
you'll  only  look  out  ob  de  winder,"  sobbed  Fly,  digging 
her  knuckles  into  her  eyes. 

Miss  Jerusha,  with  sternly  shut-up  lips,  glared  upon 
the  nnhappy  little  negress  for  a  moment  in  ominous  silence, 
and  then  getting  up,  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 

But  the  window  was  thickly  covered  with  frost,  and 
nothing  was  to  be  seen  from  it. 

"  Ef  you'd  only  come  to  de  door.  Miss  Jerry,"  wept 
Fly,  taking  h<^r  knucMes  out  of  one  eye,  where  they  had 
been  firmly  imbedded. 

With  the  tramp  of  an  iron-shod  dragon,  Miss  Jerusha 
walked  to  the  kitchen  door,  opened  it,  and  looked  out. 

A  blinding  drift  of  snow,  a  piercing  blast  of  wind,  t 


CHRISTMAS    EVE, 


li 


itle 
me 


% 


entting  shower  of  sleet,  met  her  in  the  faoe^  and  iot  one 
moment  forced  her  back. 

Only  for  a  moment,  for  Miss  Jerusha  was  not  one  to 
yield  to  trifles,  and  then,  shading  her  eyes  with  her  hands, 
she  strove  to  pierce  the  darkness  made  white  by  the  falling 
•now.  No  ghost  met  her  gaze,  however,  but  something 
that  startled  her  quite  as  much — a  long  line  of  red  light 
streaming  along  the  lonesome,  deserted  road.  There  was 
no  one  living  save  Herself  all  along  the  way  for  two  miles, 
and  no  house  of  any  kind  save  the  ruins  of  an  old  cottage, 
long  since  deserted,  and  popularly  supposed  to  be  haunted. 

"  Great  Jemima  I'*  exclaimed  Miss  Jerusha,  as,  after  her 
first  start  of  astonishment,  she  came  in,  closed  and  locked 
the  door,  **  who  can  be  in  the  old  house  ?  Somebody's  bin 
caught  in  the  storm,  and  went  in  there  for  shelter.  Well, 
lors  !  I  hope  they  won't  come  bothering  me.  If  they  do, 
I'll  pack  them  off  agin  with  a  flea  in  their  ear.  Yoa,  Fly  ! 
ain't  them  pancakes  fried  yet  ?  Oh,  you  lazy,  shif 'less,  idle, 
good-for-nothing  little  reptyle  !  Ef  you  don't  ketch  partic- 
ler  fits  afore  ever  you  sleep  this  night  I  And  I  'clare  to 
man  the  kittle  ain't  even  biled,  much  less  the  tea  adrawin' ! 
T<m,FlyP' 

Fly  came  rushing  frantically  out,  and  dodged  Miss 
Jerusha's  uplifted  hand,  which  came  down  with  a  stunning 
force  on  the  table.  With  a  suppressed  howl  of  pain,  the 
enraged  spinster  shook  her  tingling  fingers,  and  was  about 
ko  pounce  bodily  upon  her  unlucky  little  servitor,  when,  in 
a  lull  of  the  storm,  a  knock  at  the  door  arrested  the  de- 
scending  blow. 

Both  mistress  and  maid  paused  and  held  their  breath  to 
listen. 

The  wind  and  sleet  came  driving  in  fierce  ^usts  againtt 


lUl.l!W!IHfW(V 


1< 


CHRISTMAS   EYE. 


I 


the  house,  shaking  the  doors  and  rattling  the  ^rindows  ; 
then  came  a  lull,  and  then  the  knock  was  repeated,  thii 
time  more  loudly. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Jerry,  it's  a  ghos' !  Oh,  Miss  Jerry,  it's  a 
ghos' !  an'  'deed  a'  'deed  I  don't  want  for  to  go  !"  shrieked 
the  terrified  Fly,  clinging  wildly  to  Miss  Jerusha's  dress. 

With  a  vigorous  shake  the  spinster  shook  ofiF  the  cling 
ing  hands  of  poor  little  Fly,  and  laid  her  sprawling  on  the 
floor.    Then  approaching  the  door,  she  called,  loudly  and 
threateningly : 

"  Who's  there  T 

Another  knock,  but  no  reply. 

"  Who's  there  ?"  repeated  Miss  Jernsha,  sharply. 

"It's  only  me — ^please  let  me  in,"  answered  a  faint 
voice. 

To  Miss  Jerusha  it  sounded  like  the  voice  of  a  child, 
but  still  suspicious  of  her  visitor,  she  only  called  : 

"  What  do  you  want  ?" 

**  Oh,  please  open  the  door — I'm  so  cold  1"  was  the 
answer,  in  a  faint,  shivering  voice  that  was  drowned  in 
another  shriek  of  the  storm. 

Miss  Jerusha  was  no  coward  ;  so,  first  arming  herself 
with  a  pair  of  tongs,  having  some  vague  idea  she  might 
find  them  useful,  she  pulled  open  the  door,  admitting  a 
wild  drift  of  wmd,  and  snow,  and  sleet,  and,  blown  in 
with  it,  the  small,  slight  figure  of  a  child — no  one  else. 

Miss  Jerusha  closed  the  door,  folded  her  arms,  and 
looked  at  her  unexpected  visitor.  Little  Fly,  too,  so  far 
recovered  from  her  terror  as  to  lift  her  woolly  head  and 
favor  the  new-comer  with  an  open  mouth  and  eyes  astare. 

It  was  a  boy  of  some  thirteen  or  fourteen  years  of  Age^ 
wretchedly  clad,  but  so  white  with  the  drifting  snow  that 


ij 


tr 


CHRISTMAS   EVB. 


11 


it  was  impossible  to  tell  what  he  wore.  His  face  was  thin, 
pinched,  and  purple  with  the  cold,  his  fingers  red  and 
benumbed,  his  teeth  chattering  either  with  fear  or  cold. 

As  Miss  Jerusha  continued  to  stare  at  him  in  severest 
•ilence,  he  lifted  a  pair  of  large,  dark,  melancholy  eyes 
wistfully,  pleadingly,  to  her  hard,  grim  face. 

"Well,"  said  the  spinster,  at  last,  drawing  a  deep 
breath,  and  surveying  him  from  head  to  foot — "  well, 
young  man,  what  do  you  want,  if  a  body  may  ask  ?" 

"  Please  ma'am,  I  want  you  to  come  and  see  mother — 
she's  sick,"  said  tho  child,  dropping  his  eyes  under  the 
stern  gaze  bent  upo  i  him. 

"  Oh,  you  do  ?  I  hain't  the  least  doubt  of  it!"  said 
Misa  Jerusha,  sarcastically.  "  Should  hev  bin  'sprised  if 
you  hadnH,  I  was  jest  a  sayin'  I  'spected  to  see  somebody 
comin'  for  me  to  see  their  mother  or  something.  Nobody 
could  die,  of  course,  unless  I  trudged  through  the  snow  and 
storm  to  see  'em  off.  Of  course,  it  wouldn't  do  to  let  a  par- 
ticerlerly  stormy  night  come  without  bringing  me  out 
through  it,  giving  me  the  rheumatiz  in  all  my  bones  and  a 
misery  in  the  rest  o'  my  limbs.  Oh,  no,  in  course  it  wouldn't. 
And  who  may  your  mother  happen  to  be,  young  man  ?" 
concluded  Miss  Jerusha,  changing  with  startling  abrupt- 
ness fiom  the  intensely  ironical  to  the  most  searching  se- 
verity. 

"  Why,  she's  mother,^  said  the  boy,  simply,  lifting  his 
dark,  earnest  eyes  again  to  that  set,  rigid  face;  "  she  is  in 
that  old  house  over  there,  and  she — is  going  to  die." 

His  lip  quivered,  his  eyes  filled  and  saddened,  and  he 
drew  a  long,  shivering  breath,  and  swallowed  very  fast  to 
keep  back  his  tears.    Brave  little  heart  1  hiding  his  omi 


It 


CSBI8TMA8   BVB. 


iii 


grief  lest  it  might  offend  that  sonr-looking  gorgon  and 
keep  her  from  visiting  "mother." 

Miss  Jerusha's  face  did  not  relax  a  muscle  as  she  kept 
her  steely  eyes  fixed  unwinkingly  on  that  sad,  downcast 
young  face.  J^  was  a  handsome  face,  too,  in  spite  of  iti 
pinched,  famished  look;  and  Miss  Jerusha,  to  use  her  own 
expression,  "couldn't  abide"  handsome  people. 

"  And  what  brings  your  mother  to  that  old  house  that 
ain't  fit  for  a  well-brought-up  dog  to  die  in,  let  alone,  a 
'sponsible  member  o'  society  ?"  asked  Miss  Jerusha,  sharply. 

"  Please,  ma'am,  we  hadn't  any  place  else  to  go." 

"  Oh,  you  hadn't  I  I  thought  all  along  that  was  the 
fort/  of  folks  you  was  !"  sneered  the  old  lady  ;  "  there  al- 
lers  is  tramps  about,  dropping  down  and  dying  in  the  most 
unheard-of  places.  There,  be  off  with  you  now!  I  make 
a  pint  o'  never  encouraging  beggars  or  shif'less  char-ot- 
ters. I  hain't  got  nothin'  for  your  mother,  and  I  ain't  a 
public  nuss,  though  people  seems  for  to  think  I'm  paid  by 
the  corporation  for  seein'  sick  folks  out  of  the  world. 
There  I  go !" 

"  Oh  I  please  come  and  see  mother  !  indeed,  ifideed  we 
ain't  beggars,  but  mother  was  so  tired  and  sick  she  could 
not  go  any  farther,  and  now  she  is  dying  there  all  alone 
with  only  sis.  Oh,  please  do  come,"  and  the  childish  voice 
grew  sharp  and  wild  in  its  pleading  agony. 

The  heart  beating  within  Miss  Jerusha's  vestal  corset 
was  touched  for  a  moment,  and  then  arose  thoughts  of 
vagrants,  impostors,  and  "  shiriess  "  characters  generally, 
and  the  heart  was  stilled  t>^gain  ;  the  voice  that  answered 
his  pleading  cry  was  high  and  angry. 

"  1  won't,  you  little  limb  I  Be  off  I  It's  my  opinion  your 
mother  ain't  no  better  than  she  ought  to  be,  or  she  wouldn't 


CHRISTMAS   EVS. 


It 


md 


eome  a  dying  round  promiscuously  in  such  a  way.  There! 
March  I" 

With  an  angry  jerk,  the  door  was  pulled  open,  and  the 
long,  lean  finger  of  the  spinster  pointed  out. 

Without  a  word  he  turned  to  go,  but  as  he  passed  from 
the  inhospitable  threshold  the  large  dark,  solemn  eyes  were 
lifted  to  hers  with  a  long  look  of  unutterable  reproach ; 
then  the  door  was  closed  after  him  with  a  sharp  bang,  and 
securely  bolted. 

"  Shii'less  vagabones,*'  muttered  Miss  Jerusha  ;  *'  ought 
to  be  whipped  as  long  as  they  can  stand  !  Well,  he's  gone, 
and  he  didn't  get  much  out  of  me  anyway." 

Yes,  Miss  Jerusha,  he  has  gone,  but  when  will  the 
haunting  memory  of  that  last  look  of  unspeakable  reproach 
go  too  ?  It  rose  like  a  remorseful  ghost  before  her  as  she 
stood  moodily  gazing  on  the  red  spot  that  glowed  like  an 
eye  of  flame  on  the  top  of  the  hot  little  kitchen  stove — 
that  furnished  sorrowful  childish  face — those  dark,  sad, 
pitiful  eyes — that  silent  reproach,  far  keener  than  any 
words. 

Miss  Jerusha  strove  to  still  the  rebellious  voice  of 
conscience  and  persuade  herself  she  had  done  exactly  right, 
but  never  in  all  her  life  had  she  felt  so  dissatisfied  with  her 
own  conduct  before.  As  usual,  when  people  are  irritated 
with  themselves,  she  felt  doubly  irritated  with  everybody 
else  ;  so,  by  way  of  relieving  her  mind,  she  boxed  Fly's 
ears,  and  kicked  Betsy  Periwinkle,  who  came  purring 
affectionately  around  her,  to  the  other  end  of  the  room. 
And  then,  with  her  temper  no  way  sweetened  by  those 
little  marks  of  endearment,  she  tramped  back  to  the  best 
room,  and  dropped  sullenly  into  a  comfortable  seat  by  the 
fire. 


CHRISTMAS   EVE. 


Mli 


But  owing  to  some  cause  or  another,  the  seat  w  li 
comfortable  no  longer.  Miss  Jerusha  turned  and  twisted, 
and  jerked  herself  round  into  every  possible  position,  and 
"  pooh'd,"  and  "  psbaw'd,"  and  listened  to  Fly,  who,  out 
in  the  kitchen,  had  lifted  up  her  voice  and  wept,  and 
ordered  her  fiercely  to  bring  in  tea  and  hold  her  tongue. 
And  poor  little  ill-used  Fly  brought  it  in,  dropping  tears 
into  the  sugar-bowl,  and  cream-jug,  and  ''  apple  sass,^  and 
snuffling  in  great  mental  and  bodily  distress.  And  then 
Miss  Jerusha  sat  down  to  supper,  and  great  and  mighty 
was  the  eating  thereof  ;  but  still  the  canker  within  grew 
sorer  and  sorer,  and  would  not  be  forgotten.  Do  what  she 
would,  turn  which  way  she  might,  that  sorrowful,  childish 
face  would  rise  before  her  like  a  waking  nightmare.  Con- 
science, that  "  still,  small  voice,"  would  persist  in  making 
itself  heard,  until  at  last  Miss  Jerusha  turned  ferociously 
round  and  told  conscience  to  mind  his  own  business,  that 
"she  wasn't  going  to  be  fooled  by  no  baby-faced  little 
vagabones."  And  then,  resuming  her  work,  she  sat  down 
with  grim  determination,  and  knit  and  knit,  and  still  the 
steam  within  got  up  to  a  high  pressure,  until  Miss  Jerusha 
got  into  a  state  of  mind,  between  remorse  and  conscience 
and  the  heat  of  the  fire,  threatening  spontaneous  combus- 
tion. 

Woe  to  the  man,  woman,  or  child  who  would  have 
presumed  to  cioss  Miss  Jerusha  in  her  present  mood  I 
Safer  would  it  have  been  to 

'<  Bsard  the  lion  in  his  den, 
The  Douglas  m  his  hall,** 

than  the  v^nng  tornado  pent  up  within  the  hermetically 


CHRISTMAS    BVE, 


■ealed  lips  of  Miss  Jerusha  Glory  Ann  Skamp  at  that 
moment. 

But  all  would  not  do.  Louder  and  louder  that  clamor- 
ous yoice  arose,  until  the  aged  spinster  bounded  up  in  a 
rage,  flung  her  knitting  across  the  room,  and,  striding 
across  to  the  hall,  returned  with  an  immense  gray  woolen 
mantle,  a  thick  black  silk  quilted  hood,  a  red  woolen 
comforter,  and  a  pair  of  men's  strong  calf-skin  boots. 
Flinging  herself  into  a  seat,  Miss  Jerusha,  with  two  or 
three  savage  pulls,  jerked  these  on,  and  having  by  thia 
means  got  rid  of  some  of  the  superfluous  steam,  burst  out 
into  the  following  complimentary  strain  to  herself  : 

"  Jerusha  Glory  Ann  Skamp,  it's  my  opinion  you're  a 
natVal  born  fool,  and  nothin'  shorter  !  Ain't  yon  ashamed 
of  yourself  in  your  'spectablc  old  age  o'  life  to  go  trampin' 
and  vanderblowsin'  through  the  streets  at  sich  onchristian 
hours  of  the  night  to  look  arter  wagrets  as  ought  for  to 
look  arter  theirselves  ?  I'm  'shamed  of  you,  Jerusha  Skamp, 
and  you  ought  to  be  'shamed  o'  yourself ^  going  on  with 
sioh  reg'Iar  downright,  ondecent  conduct.  Don't  tell  me 
bout  that  there  little  f  ellar's  looks  !  He's  an  impostor  lik« 
the  rest,  and  has  done  you  brown  beauinf  ully.  Miss  Jerusha, 
as  you'll  soon  find  out.  *  A  fool  o'  *orty  'il  never  be  wise  !' 
To  think  that  Jerusha  Skamp  should  be  took  in  by  a  boy's 
looks  at  your  age  o'  life !  His  looks !  fudge !  stuff ! 
nonsense !  You're  nothing  but  a  old  simpleton — that 
there's  what  you  are.  Miss  Jerusha  I  Here  you.  Fly  I  you 
derned  little  black  monkey  you !" 

Thus  pathetically  adjured,  Fly,  in  a  very  limp  state  of 
mind  and  body,  caused  probably  by  the  showers  of  tears 
so  lately  shed,  appeared  in  the  door- way,  her  eyes  fall  of 
tears  and  her  mouth  full  of  corn-cake 


M  THE   AOTRBBB^ 

**H«re,  you  Fly,  I'm  going  out,  and  yon  and  Betiey 
Periwinkle  has  got  for  to  sit  up  for  me.  Give  Betsey  hei 
supper,  and  see  that  you  don't  fall  aileep  and  set  the  house 
afire." 

"  Yes'm,"  said  Fly,  in  a  nearly  inaudible  voice,  as  she 
returned  to  her  supper. 

Then  Miss  Jerusha,  putting  a  small  flask  of  currant 
wine  in  her  pocket,  wrapped  her  thick,  warm  mantle  around 
her,  and  her  hood  closely  over  her  face,  and  resolntely 
ftepped  out  into  the  wild,  angry  storm. 


CHAPTER  II. 


THB  ACTBBSS — LITTLB  GEOBCIi. 


i 


ill 


"Death  is  the  crown  of  life.** 

'*  She  was  a  strange  and  willful  sprit* 
As  ever  startled  humai  sight.** 

HE  road  to  the  old  house  was  as  familiar  to  MIm 
Jerusha  as  a  road  could  well  be  to  an^  one, 
yet  she  found  it  extremely  difficult  to  make 
her  way  to  it  to-night.  The  piercing  sleet 
dashed  into  her  very  eyes,  blinding  her,  as  she  floundered 
on,  and  the  raw,  cutting  wind  penetrated  even  the  warm 
folds  c  f  her  thick  woolen  mantle.  Now  and  then  she  would 
have  to  stop  and  catch  hold  of  a  tree,  to  brace  her  body 
against  the  fierce,  cutting  blasts,  and  then,  with  bent  head 
and  closed  eyei,  plunge  on  through  the  hnge  snow-heapg 
[and  thick  drif ta. 


UTTLE    QEORQIA. 


She  had  not  fully  realized  the  violence  of  the  storm 
antil  now,  and  she  thought,  with  a  sharp  pang  of  remorse, 
of  the  slight,  delicate  child  she  had  turned  from  her  door 
to  hrave  its  pitiless  fury. 

"  Poor  little  feller  !  poor  little  feller !"  thought  Miss 
/erusha,  piteously.  "  Lor',  what  a  nasty  old  dragon  I  am, 
to  be  sure  I  Should  admire  to  know  where  I'll  go  to,  if  I 
keep  on  like  this.  Yar-r  I  you  thought  you  did  it,  didn't 
you  ?    Just  see  what  it  is  to  be  mistaken." 

This  last  apostrophe  was  addressed  to  a  sudden  blast  of 
wind  that  nearly  overset  her ;  but,  by  grasping  the  trunk 
of  a  tree,  she  saved  herself,  and  now,  with  a  contemptuous 
snarl  at  its  foiled  power,  she  plunged  and  sank,  and  rose 
and  floundered  on  through  the  wild  December  storm,  until 
she  approached  the  old  ruined  cottage,  from  the  window 
of  which  streamed  the  light. 

The  window  was  still  sound,  and  Miss  Jerueha, 
cautiously  approaching  it,  began  prudently  to  reconnoiter 
before  going  any  farther. 

Desolate  indeed  was  the  scene  that  met  her  eye.  The 
room  was  totally  without  furniture,  the  plastering  had  in 
many  places  fallen  off  and  lay  in  drifts  all  along  the  floor. 
A  great  heap  of  brush  was  piled  np  in  the  chimney-corner, 
and  close  by  it  crouched  a  small,  dark  figure  feeding  the 
slender  flame  that  burned  on  the  hearth.  Opposite  lay 
extended  the  thin,  emaciated  form  of  a  woman,  wrapped 
in  a  shawl,  almost  her  only  covering.  As  the  firelight  fell 
on  her  face,  Miss  Jerusha  started  to  see  how  frightfully 
ghastly  it  was,  with  such  hollow  cheeks,  sunken  eyes,  and 
projecting  bones.  So  absorbed  was  she  in  gazing  on  that 
skeleton  face,  that  she  did  not  observe  the  little  figure 
crouching  over  the  fire  start  up,  gaze  on  her  a  moment, 


TUB   ACTRBSa— 


»•)! 


and  then  approach  the  window,  until,  suddenly  iarning 
round,  she  beheld  a  small,  dark,  elfish  face,  with  ^  ild,  glit- 
tering eyes,  gleamicg  through  masses  cf  uncombed  olf  looks, 
pressed  close  to  the  window,  with  its  goblin  gaze  fixed  full 
upon  her. 

Miss  Jerusha  was  not  nervous  nor  superstitious,  but  at 
the  sudden  vision  of  that  face  from  elf-land  she  uttered  a 
shriek  that  might  have  awakened  the  dead,  and  shrank 
back  in  dismay  from  the  window. 

While  she  still  stood,  horror-struck,  the  door  opened, 
and  a  high,  shrill  voice  called: 

"  Now,  then,  whoever  you  are,  come  in  if  you  want 
tor 

It  was  the  voice  of  a  mortal  child,  and  Miss  Jerusha 
was  re-assured.  Thoroughly  ashamed  of  herself,  and  pro- 
voked at  having  betrayed  so  much  fear,  she  approached 
the  open  door,  passed  in,  and  it  was  closed  after  her. 

"  So  I  scared  you,  did  I  ?  Well,  it  serves  you  right, 
you  know,  for  staring  in  people's  windows,"  said  the  shrill 
little  voice  ;  and  Miss  Jerusha,  looking  down^  saw  the  same 
small,  thin,  dark  face,  with  its  great,  wild,  glittering  black 
eyes,  long,  tangled  masses  of  coal-black  hair,  high,  broad 
brow,  and  a  slight  lithe  figure. 

It  was  a  strange,  unique  face  for  a  child,  full  of  slum- 
bering power,  pride,  passion,  strength,  and  invincible  dar- 
ing; but  Miss  Jerusha  did  not  see  this,  and  looking  down 
only  beheld  an  odd-looking,  rather  ugly  child,  of  twelve  or 
thirteen,  or  so,  with  what  she  regarded  as  an  impudent, 
precocious  gaze,  disagreeable  and  unnatural  in  one  so 
young. 

"  Little  gal,  don't  be  sassy,"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  sharj^K 
*  yof  ought  to  hev  more  respect  for  your  elders,  and  not 


LITTLE    QEOHalA, 


•tand  there  and  give  them  such  ompidenoe.  Prettj 
broughten  you  must  hev  got,  1  know — a  sassy  little  limb." 

The  latter  part  of  this  address  was  delivered  in  a  mut- 
tered soliloquy,  as  she  pushed  the  hood  back  from  her  face 
and  shook  the  snow  off  her  cloak.  The  "  little  limb,'* 
totally  unheeding  the  reprimand,  still  stood  peering  up  in 
her  face,  scanning  its  iron  Ijneiments  with  an  amusing  mix* 
ture  of  curiosity  and  impudeiue. 

As  Miss  Jorusha  again  turned  round  and  encountered 
the  piercing  stare  of  those  great,  dark,  bright  eyes  fixed  so 
unwinkingly  on  her  face,  she  felt,  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life,  perhaps,  restless  and  uneasy  under  the  infliction. 

"  My  conscience  1  little  gal,  don't  stare  so  I  I  *clare  to 
gracious  I  never  see  sich  a  child  !  I  don't  know  what  iihe 
looks  like,"  said  Miss  Jerunha. 

The  latter  sentence  was  not  intended  for  the  ohild'i 
ears,  but  it  reached  those  sharp  little  organs  nevertheless, 
and,  still  keeping  her  needle-like  gaze  fixed  on  the  wrinkled 
face  of  the  spinster,  she  said  : 

"  Well,  if  you  don't,  I  know  what  ^ou  look  like,  any 
way — I  do  !" 

''  And  what  do  I  look  like  ?"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  in  rising 
anger,    having  a  presentiment  something  impudent  was 


coming. 


"  Why  just  exactly  like  one  of  the  witches  in  Macbeth.'* 
Now,  our  worthy  maiden  lady  had  never  heard  of  the 
"Noble  Thate,"  but  she  had  a  pretty  strong  idea  of  what 
witches  riding  on  broomsticks  were  like,  and  here  this 
little  black  goblin  girl  had  the  audacity  to  compare  her  to 
one  of  them.  For  one  awful  moment  Miss  Jerusha  glared 
upon  the  daring  little  sinner  in  impotent  rage,  while  her 
fingers  fairly  ached  to  seize  her  and  pound  her  within  an 


M  TEE   ACTRSSa^ 

ineh  of  hei  life.  Her  face  must  have  expressed  her  amiable 
desire,  for  the  elf  sprang  back,  and  throwing  herself  into  a 
stage  attitude,  uttered  some  words  in  a  tragic  voice,  quite 
overpowering,  coming  from  so  small  a  body. 

The  noise  awoke  the  sleeper  near  the  fire.  She  turned 
restlessly,  opened  her  eyes,  and  called  : 

"  Georgia  I" 

**  Here,  mamma  ;  here  I  am,"  said  the  elf,  springing  up 
and  bending  over  her.     "  Do  you  want  anything  ?" 

**  No,  dear.  I  thought  I  heard  you  talking.  Hasn't 
Warren  come  yet  ?" 

"  No,  mamma.'^ 

"Then  who  were  you  talking  to  a  moment  ago?  If 
there  any  one  here  ?" 

'<  Tes,  mamma,  the  funniest  looking  old  woman — here, 
you  /"  said  the  elf,  beckoning  to  Miss  Jerusha. 

Mechanically  that  lady  obeyed  the  peremptory  sum- 
mons, too  completely  stunned  and  shocked  by  this  unheard- 
of  effrontery  to  fully  realize  for  a  moment  that  her  ears  bad 
not  deceived  her. 

She  approached  and  bent  over  the  sufferer.  Two  hollow 
eyes  were  raised  to  her  face,  and  feeling  herself  in  the 
awful  presence  of  death,  all  Miss  Jerusha's  indignation 
faded  away,  and  she  said,  in  a  softened  voice  : 

"  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  in  this  wretched  place.  Can  I 
do  anything  for  you  ?'* 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  said  the  woman,  transfixing  her  with 
a  gaze  quite  as  uncompromising  as  her  little  daughter's  had 
been. 

<*My  name  is  Jerusha  Skamp.  I  suff  »  light  in  this 
here  cottage,  and  came  over  to  see  who  was  here.  W  bat 
can  I  do  for  you  ?" 


4 


I 


UTTLE    QEOBQUL 


m 


•*  Nothing  for  me — I  am  dying,"  said  ihe  «^oman,  in  a 
husky,  hollow  voice.     "Nothing  for  me  ;  nothing  for  me." 

'*  Oh,  mamma !  oh,  mamma !"  screamed  the  child^ 
passionately.     "  Oh,  not  dying  !     Oh,  mamma  !" 

"  Oh,  Georgia,  hush  !"  said  the  woman,  turning  rest- 
lessly.    "  Don't  shriek  so,  child  ;  I  cannot  bear  it." 

But  Georgia,  who  seemed  to  have  no  sort  of  self- 
control,  or  any  other  sort  of  control,  still  continued  to 
scream  her  wild,  passionate  cry,  "  Oh,  not  dying  !  oh, 
mamma  !"  until  Miss  Jerusha,  losing  all  patience,  caught 
her  arm  in  a  vise-like  grip,  and,  giving  her  a  furious  shake, 
said,  in  a  deep,  stern  whisper  : 

"  You  little  limb  1  Do  you  want  to  kill  your  mother  f 
Hold  your  tongue,  afore  I  shake  the  life  out  of  you  I" 

The  words  had  the  effect  of  stilling  the  little  tempest 
before  her,  who  crouched  into  the  corner  and  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands. 

"  Poor  Georgia  !  poor  little  thing  !  what  will  become 
of  her  when  I  am  gone  ?"  said  the  sufferer,  while  a  spasm 
of  intense  pain  shot  across  her  haggard  face. 

"  The  Lord  will  provide,"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  rolling  up 
the  whites,  or,  more  properly  speaking,  the  yellows  of  her 
eyea  "  Don't  take  oa  about  that.  Tell  me  how  you  came 
to  be  here  !  But  first  let  me  give  you  a  drink.  Tou  look 
as  if  you  needed  something  to  keep  life  in  you.  Wait  a 
minute." 

Miss  Jerusha's  hawk-like  eye  went  roving  round  the 
room  until  it  alighted  on  a  little  tin  cup.  Seizing  this,  she 
filled  it  with  the  currant  wine  she  had  brought,  and  held  it 
to  the  sick  woman's  lips. 

Eagerly  she  drank,  and  then  Miss  Jerusha  folded  the 
•hawl  more  closely  around  her,  and,  sitting  down  on  the 


96 


THE   ACTRESS— 


floor,  drew  her  head  upon  her  lap,  and,  with  a  tonoh  that 
was  almost  tender,  smoothed  back  the  heavy  locks  of  her 
dark  hair. 

"  Now,  then,"  she  said,  '*  tell  me  all  about  it." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  the  sick  woman,  looking  up 
gratefully.  "  I  feared  I  should  die  all  alone  here.  I  sent 
my  little  boy  to  the  nearest  house  in  search  of  heln,  but  he 
has  not  yet  returned." 

"  Ah  !  you're  a  widder,  I  suppose  ?"  said  Miss  Jerusha, 
trying  to  keep  down  a  pang  of  remorse  and  dread,  as  she 
thought  of  the  child  she  had  so  cruelly  turned  out  into  the 
bitter  storm. 

"Yes,  I  have  been  a  widow  for  the  last  seven  years. 
My  name  is  Alice  Randall  Darrell." 

"And  hain't  you  got  no  friends  nor  nothin',  Mrs, 
Darrell,  when  you  come  to  this  old  place,  not  fit  for  pigs, 
let  alone  human  Christians  ?" 

"  No  ;  no  friends — not  one  friend  in  all  this  wide  world," 
said  the  dying  woman,  in  a  tone  so  utterly  despairing  that 
Miss  Jerusha's  hand  fell  soothingly  and  pityingly  on  her 
forehead. 

"  Sho,  now,  sho  I  I  want  ter  know,"  said  Miss  Jerusha, 
quite  unconscious  that  she  was  making  rhyme,  a  species  of 
literature  she  had  the  profoundest  contempt  for.  "  That'a 
too  bad,  'clare  if  it  ain't !     Are  they  all  dead  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know — they  are  all  dead  to  me." 

"  Why,  what  on  airth  hed  you  done  to  them  f  said 
Miss  Jerusha,  in  surprise. 

"  I  married  against  my  father's  consent," 

"Ah  I  that  was  bad ;  but  then  he  needn't  hev  made  a 
f  ass.    Tie  didn't  ask  your  consent  when  he  got  married,  I 


^ 


LITTLE    OEOBQJA, 


f'pose.    Didn't  like  the  yc  ing  man  you  kept  oompan;  with, 

ehr 

*'  No  ;  he  hated  him.    My  father  was  rich,  and  I  na 

off  with  a  poor  actor." 

"  A  play-acter  I     Why,  you  must  hev  bin  crazy  I'* 

''  Oh,  I  was — I  was  I  I  was  a  child,  and  did  not  know 
what  I  was  doing.  I  thought  my  life  with  him  would 
have  been  all  light,  and  music,  and  glitter,  and  dazzle,  such 
as  I  saw  on  the  stage  ;  but  I  soon  found  out  the  difference." 

"  'Spect  you  did.  Law,  law  I  what  fools  there  u  in  this 
'ere  world  !"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  in  a  moralizing  tone. 

"  My  father  disowned  me."  ("  And  sarved  you  right, 
too  !"  put  in  Miss  Jerusha  sotto  voce.)  "My  family  cast 
me  off.  I  joined  the  company  to  which  my  husband 
belonged,  and  did  the  tragedy  business  with  him  ;  and  so 
for  eight  years  we  wandered  about  from  city  to  city,  from 
town  to  town,  always  poor  and  needy,  for  Arthur  drank 
and  gambled,  and  as  fast  as  we  earned  money  it  was  spent." 

"  And  you're  a  play-acter,  too  I"  cried  Miss  Jerusha 
recoiling  in  horror. 

Miss  Jerusha,  trained  in  the  land  of  *<  steady  habits," 
had,  from  her  earliest  infancy,  been  taught  to  look  upon 
theaters  as  only  a  little  less  horribly  wicked  than  the  place 
unmentionable  to  ears  polite,  and  upon  all  "  play-actors " 
as  the  immediate  children  and  agents  of  the  father  of  evil 
himself.  She  had  never  until  now  had  the  misfortune  to 
come  in  contact  with  one  personally,  having  only  heard  of 
them  as  we  hear  of  goblins,  warlocks,  demons,  and  other 
"children  of  night."  What  wonder,  then,  that  at  thii 
sudden,  awful  revelation  she  started  back  and  almost 
hurled  the  frail  form  from  her  in  loathing  and  horror. 
But  a  fieroe  clutch  was  laid  on  her  shoulder — she  almost 


80 


TEE   ACTRBBS- 


fancied  for  ftn  instant  it  was  Satan  himself  come  for  hif 
child — until,  looking  up,  she  saw  the  fiercely  blazing  eyes 
and  witch-like  face  of  little  Georgia  gleaming  upon  it. 

"  Tou  ugly,  wicked  old  woman  !"  she  passionately  burst 
out  with,  **  if  you  dare  to  hurt  my  mamma,  1*11 — I'll  kill 
youl*' 

And  so  dark,  and  fierce,  and  elfish  did  she  look  at  that 
moment,  that  Miss  Jerusha  fairly  quailed  before  the  small, 
unearthly  looking  sprite. 

^*  I'm  not  a-going  to  tetch  your  ma.  Get  out  o'  this,  and 
leave  me  go !"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  shaking  off  with  some 
difficulty  the  human  burr  who  clung  to  her  with  the  tenacity 
of  a  crab,  and  glared  upon  her  with  her  shining  black  eyes. 

**  Georgia,  love,  go  and  sit  down.  Oh,  you  wild,  stormy, 
savage  child,  what  ever  will  become  of  you  when  I  am  gone  ? 
Do,  pray,  excuse  her,"  said  the  woman,  faintly,  lifting  her 
eyes  pleadingly  to  Miss  Jerusha's  angry  face ;  "  she  has 
had  no  one  to  control  her,  or  subdue  her  wild,  willlul  temper, 
and  has  grown  up  a  crazy,  mad-headed,  half-tamed  thing. 
If  you  have  children  of  your  own,  you  will  know  how  to 
make  allowance  for  her." 

"  I  have  no  children  of  my  own,  and  I  thank  goodness 
that  I  haven't  I"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  shortly ;  *'  a  set  of 
plagues,  the  whole  of  'em  I  Ef  that  there  little  gal  was 
mine,  I'd  spank  her  while  I  could  stand,  and  see  ef  that 
wouldn't  take  some  of  the  nonsense  out  of  her." 

The  last  words  did  not  reach  the  invalid's  ear,  and  the 
little  tempest-in-a-teapot  retreated  again  to  her  corner, 
scowling  darkly  on  Miss  Jerusha,  whom  she  evidently 
smpected  of  some  sinister  designs  on  her  mother,  which  it 
was  her  duty  to  frustrate. 


LITTLE    GEORGIA. 


**Is  the  a  play-acter,  too?"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  after  « 
■ullcn  pause 

"  Who  ?  Georgia  ?  Oh,  yes  ;  she  plays  juvenile  parts, 
and  dances  and  sings,  and  was  a  great  favorite  with  the 
public.  She  has  a  splendid  voice,  and  dances  beautifully, 
and  whenever  she  appeared  she  used  to  receive  thundeni 
of  applause.  Georgia  will  make  a  star  actress  'J  •;  he  ever 
goes  on  the  stage  again,"  said  the  woman,  with  more 
animation  than  she  had  yet  shown. 

"  And  do  you  want  your  darter  to  grow  up  a  wicked 
good-for-nothing  hussy  of  a  play-acter?" said  Miss  Jerusha, 
sternly  "  Mrs.  Darrell,  you  ought  for  to  be  ashamed  of 
yourself.  Ef  she  was  mine,  I  would  sooner  see  her  starve 
decently  first." 

The  dying  woman  turned  away  with  a  groan. 

<'  She  won't  starve  here,  though,'*  said  Miss  Jerasha, 
feeling  called  upon  to  administer  a  little  consolation ; 
"  there's  trustees  and  selectmen,  and  one  thing  and  another 
to  look  arter  poor  folks  and  orphans.  She'll  be  took  care 
of.    And  now,  how  did  it  happen  you  came  here  ?" 

'*  I  came  with  the  company  to  which  I  belong,  and  we 
stopped  at  a  town  about  fifty  miles  from  here.  GteorgiA, 
as  you  can  see,  has  a  dreadful  temper — poor  little  fiery, 
passionate  thing — and  the  manager  of  the  theater,  being 
an  insolent,  overbearing  man,  was  always  finding  fault  with 
her,  and  scolding  about  something,  whereupon  Georgia 
would  fly  into  one  of  her  fits  of  passion,  and  a  dreadful 
scene  would  ensue.  I  strove  to  keep  them  apart  as  ranob 
as  I  could,  but  they  often  met,  as  a  matter  of  course,  and 
never  parted  without  a  furious  quarrel.  He  did  not  wish 
to  part  with  her,  for  I— and  it  is  with  little  vanity,  alas  !  I 
say  it — was  his  best  actress,  and  Georgia's  name  in  the 


THE   ACTREaS- 


bills  never  failed  to  draw  a  crowded  hoase.  I  ised  to  talk 
to  Georgia,  and  implore  her  to  restrain  her  fierce  temper, 
and  she  would  promise  ;  but  when  next  she  would  meet 
him,  po^JT  shild,  and  listen  to  his  insulting  words,  all  would 
be  forgotten,  and  Georgia  would  stamp  and  scold,  and  call 
him  all  manner  of  names,  and  sometimes  go  so  far  as  to 
refuse  appearing  at  all,  and  that  last  act  of  disobedience 
never  failed  to  put  him  fairly  beside  himself  with  rage.  I 
foresaw  how  it  would  end,  but  I  could  do  nothing  with  her. 
Poor  little  thing !  Nature  cursed  her  with  that  fierce, 
passionate  temper,  and  she  could  not  help  it." 

"  Humph  I"  muttered  Miss  Jerusha  ;  couldn't  help  it  I 
That's  ail  very  fine  ;  but  I  know  one  thing,  ef  JT  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  her,  I'd  take  the  fierceness  out  of  her,  or 
know  for  why — a  ugly  tempered,  savage  little  limb  I" 

"  One  night,"  continued  the  sick  woman,  "  Georgia  had 
been  dancing,  and  when  she  left  the  stage  the  whole  house 
shook  with  the  thunders  of  applause.  They  shouted  and 
shouted  for  her  to  reappear,  but  I  was  sick  that  night,  and 
Georgia  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  home,  and  would  not  go. 
The  manager  ordered  her  in  no  very  gentle  tone  to  go  back, 
mnd  Georgia  flatly  and  peremptorily  refused.  Then  a  dread- 
ful scene  ensued.  He  caught  her  by  the  arms,  and  dragged 
her  to  her  feet,  as  if  he  would  force  her  out,  and  when  she 
resisted  he  struck  her  a  blow  that  sent  her  reeling  across 
the  room. 

"  Aha  !  that  was  good  for  yon,  my  lady  I"  said  Miss 
Jerusha,  with  a  grim  chuckle,  as  she  glanced  at  the  little 
dancing  girl. 

"  It  was  the  first  time  any  one  had  ever  strack  her," 
said  Mrs.  Darrell,  in  a  sinking  voice,  "  and  a  very  fury 
seemed  to  seize  her.     A  large  black  bottle  lay  on  a  sheU 


UTTLB   OSOROIA, 


[  ised  to  talk 
erce  temper, 
»  would  meet 
•ds,  all  would 
jold,  and  call 
so  far  as  to 
disobedience 
j^ith  rage.  I 
ing  with  her. 
that  fierce, 

an't  help  it  I 
if  /had  any- 
it  of  her,  or 
limb  I" 
Georgia  had 
whole  house 
shouted  and 
kt  night,  and 
mid  not  go. 
3  to  go  back, 
^hen  a  dread- 
and  dragged 
id  when  she 
deling  across 

!"  said  Miss 
at  the  little 

struck  her," 
%  very  fury 
'  on  a  shelf 


Detr,  and  with  a  perfect  shriek  of  passion  she  teized  it  and 
hurled  it  with  all  her  strength  at  his  head." 

**  My  gracious  I"  ejaculated  the  horrified  Miss  Jeruska. 

"  It  struck  him  on  the  forehead,  and  laid  it  open  with  a 
frightful  gash.  He  attempted  to  spring  upon  her,  but 
some  of  the  men  interposed,  and  Georgia  was  forced  oflf  by 
the  rest.  Her  brother  Warren  was  there,  and,  almost 
terrified  to  death,  he  brought  her  home  with  him,  and  that 
very  night  we  were  told  our  services  were  no  longer 
needed,  and,  what  was  more,  Mr.  B.,  the  manager,  refused 
to  pay  us  what  he  owed  us,  and  even  threatened  to  begin  an 
action  against  us  for  assault  and  battery,  and  I  don't  know 
what  besides.  I  knew  him  to  be  an  unprincipled,  vindic- 
tive man,  and  the  threat  terrified  me  nearly  to  death, 
terrified  me  so  much  that,  with  my  two  children,  I  fled  the 
next  morning  from  the  town  where  we  were  stopping,  fled 
away  with  only  one  idea — that  of  escaping  from  his  power. 
1  had  a  little  money  remaining,  but  it  was  soon  spent,  and 
I  was  so  weak  and  ill  that  but  for  my  poor  children  I  felt 
at  times  as  if  I  could  gladly  have  lain  down  and  died. 

'*  Coming  from  Burnfield  to-night,  we  were  overtaken 
by  this  storm,  and  must  have  perished  had  not  Warren 
discovered  this  old  hut.  The  exposure  of  this  furious 
storm  completed  what  sorrow  and  suffering  had  long  ago 
begun,  and  I  felt  I  was  dying.  It  was  terrible  to  think 
of  leaving  poor  little  Warren  and  Georgia  all  alone  without 
one  single  friend  in  the  world,  and  at  last  I  sent  Warren 
out  to  the  nearest  house  in  the  hope  that  some  hospitable 
person  might  come  who  would  procure  some  sort  of  employ- 
ment for  them  that  would  keep  them  at  least  from  starving. 
Tbu  oame,  thank  Heaven !  but  my  poor  Warren  ha*  not 


r 


1« 


M 


THE    AC  TRESS— 


returned.  Oh  !  I  fear,  I  fear  he  has  perished  in  tbii 
storm,"  cried  the  dying  woman,  wringing  her  paie  fingers. 

"  Oh,  I  guess  not,"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  more  startled 
than  she  chose  to  appear ;  "  most  likely  he's  gone  some 
place  else  and  staid  there  to  get  warm  ;  but  you,  vow, 
what  are  we  to  do  for  you  ?  It  doesn't  seem  Christian-like 
nor  proper  no  ways  to  leave  you  to  die  here  in  this  miser- 
able old  shed." 

"Dear,  kind  friend,  never  mind  me,"  said  the  invalid, 
gratefully  ;  "  my  short  span  of  life  is  nearly  run,  and  oh  ! 
what  does  it  matter  whether  for  the  few  brief  moments 
yet  remaining  where  they  are  spent.  But  my  children, 
my  poor,  poor  children !  Oh,  madam,  you  have  a  kind 
heart,  I  know  you  have," — (Miss  Jerusha  gave  a  skeptical 
"  humph  !") — "  do,  dOy  for  Heaven's  sake,  try  if  some  charit- 
able person  will  not  take  them  and  give  them  their  food 
and  clothing.  Not  so  much  for  Warren  do  I  fear,  for  he 
is  quiet  and  sensible,  very  wise  indeed  for  his  age  ;  but  for 
this  wild,  stormy  Georgia.  Oh,  madam,  do  something  for 
her,  and  my  dying  thanks  will  be  yours  !" 

"  Well,  there,  don't  take  on  I  I'll  see  what  can  be 
done,"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  fidgeting,  and  glancing  askance 
at  the  wild-eyed,  tempestuous  little  spirit,  "  and  though 
you  don't  seem  to  mind  it  much,  still  it  don't  seem  right 
nor  decent  for  you  to  die  here  like  I  don't  know  what," 
(Miss  Jerusha's  favorite  simile),  "  so  I'll  jest  step  over  to 
Deacon  Brown's  and  get  him  to  lool:  arter  you,  and  maybe 
he  will  hev  an  eye  to  the  children,  too." 

"  But  you  will  be  exposed  to  the  storm,"  feebly  remon- 
strated the  dying  woman. 

"Bah!  who  keers  for  the  storm?"  said  Miss  Jerusha, 
glancing  out  of  the  window  With  a  look  of  grim  lefianoe 


i:^ 


■iMMiliii 


bed  in  thii 
p&ie  fingers, 
tore  startled 
}  gone  some 
t  you,  vow, 
hristian-like 
1  this  miser- 

the  invalid, 
un,  and  oh  I 
ef  momenti 
ly  children, 
lave  a  kind 
a  skeptical 
some  charit- 
L  their  food 
fear,  for  he 
ge ;  but  for 
mething  for 

hat  can  be 
ing  askance 
and  though 
seem  right 
now  what," 
tep  over  to 
and  maybe 

^bly  remon- 

iss  Jerusha, 
m  iefianoa 


-."■.t 


LITTLE    OEOBGLL  U 

**  BefideSy  itri  clarin' off,  and  Deacon  Brown's  ain*t  more 
than  two  miles  from  here.  There,  keep  up  your  sperrits, 
and  I'll  be  back  in  an  hour  or  two  with  the  deacon." 

So  saying.  Miss  Jerusha,  who  once  she  considered  it 
her  duty  to  do  anything,  would  have  gone  through  fire 
and  flood  to  do  it,  stepped  resolutely  out  to  brave  once 
more  the  cold,  wintry  blast. 

The  storm  had  abated  considerably,  but  it  was  still 
piercingly  cold,  and  Miss  Jerusha's  fingers  and  to^s  tingled 
as  she  walked  rapidly  over  the  hard,  frosty  ground.  It  had 
ceased  snowing,  and  a  pale,  watery  moon,  appearing  at 
intervals  from  behind  a  cloud,  cast  a  faint,  sickly  light 
over  the  way.  The  high,  leafless  trees  sent  long  black, 
ominous  shadows  across  the  road,  and  Miss  Jerusha  oast 
apprehensive  glances  on  either  side  as  she  walked. 

Not  the  fear  of  ghosts,  nor  the  fear  of  robbers  troubled 
the  stout-hearted  spinster ;  but  the  dread  of  seeing  a  slight, 
boyish  form,  stark  and  frozen,  across  her  path.  In  min- 
gled dread  and  remorse,  she  thought  of  what  she  had  done 
and  only  the  hope  of  finding  him  in  the  old  cottage  on  her 
return  could  dispel  for  an  instant  her  haunting  fear. 

Deacon  Brown's  was  reached  at  last,  and  great  was  the 
Burpiifie  of  that  orthodox  pillar  of  the  church  at  beholding 
his  un-looked-f or  visitor.  In  very  few  words  Miss  Jerusha 
gave  him  to  understand  the  object  of  her  visit,  and,  rather 
ruefully,  the  good  man  rose  to  harness  up  his  old  gray 
mare  and  start  with  Miss  Jerusha  on  this  charitable  errand. 

A  quick  run  over  the  hard,  frozen  ground  brought  them 
to  the  cottage,  and,  fastening  his  mare  to  a  tree,  the  deacon 
followed  Miss  Jerusha  into  the  old  house. 

And  there  a  pitiful  sight  met  his  eyes.  The  fire  had 
gone  oat,  and  the  room  was  scarcely  warmer  than  tht 


freecDg  atmosphere  without.  Mother  and  obild  aj  clasped 
in  each  other's  arms,  stir  and  motionless.  With  a  stifled 
ejaculation,  Miss  Jerusha  approached  and  bent  over  them. 
The  ohild  was  asleep,  and  the  mother  was  dsad/ 


CHAPTER  m. 


▲  TOima  TOBHADO. 

'*8he  is  active,  stirring,  all  Are; 
Cannot  rest,  cannot  tire; 
To  a  Btone  she  had  given  life.** 

T  was  a  bright,  breezy  May  morning,  jnst  oool 
enough  to  render  a  fire  pleasant  and  a  brisk 
walk  delightful.  The  sunshine  came  streaming 
down  through  the  green,  spreading  boughs  of 
the  odorous  pine  trees,  gilding  their  glistening  leaves,  and 
tinting  with  hues  of  gold  the  sparkling  windows  of  Miss 
Jerusha's  little  cottage. 

It  was  yet  early  morning,  and  the  sun  had  just  arisen, 
yet  Miss  Jerusha,  brisk,  resolute,  and  energetic,  marched 
through  the  house,  **  up  stairs,  and  down  stairs,  and  in  my 
lady's  chamber,"  sweeping,  dusting,  scouring,  scrubbing 
and  scolding,  all  in  a  breath  :  for,  reader,  this  was  Monday, 
and  that  good  lady  was  just  oommenci^ng  her  spring 
*•  house-cleaning." 

And  Miss  Jerusha's  house-cleaning  was  something  which 
required  to  be  seen  to  be  appreciated  Not  that  there  wai 
the  slightest  necessity  for  that  frantic  and  distracting  pro> 


A    TO  UNO    TORSTADO, 


91 


which  all  good  housekeepers  consider  it  a  matter  of 
consoience  to  make  their  household  suffer  once  or  twice  a 
year,  for  never  since  Miss  Jeiusha  had  come  to  the  yean 
of  discretion  had  a  single  speck  of  dirt  heen  visible  to  the 
naked  eye  inside  of  those  spotless  walls.  But  it  was  with 
Miss  Jerusha  the  eleventh  commandment  and  the  fortieth 
article  of  the  Episcopal  creed,  to  go  through  a  vigoroui 
and  uncompromising  scouring  down  and  scrubbing  up  every 
spring  and  fall,  to  the  great  mental  agony  and  bodily 
torture  of  the  unhappy  little  handmaiden,  Fly,  and  her 
venerable  cat,  Betsey  Periwinkle.  Since  the  middle  of 
April  Miss  Jerusha  had  shown  signs  of  the  coming  epidem- 
ic, which  on  this  eventful  morning  broke  out  in  full  force. 
Any  stranger,  on  looking  in  at  that  usually  immaculate 
cottage,  might  have  fancied  a  hurricane  had  passed  through 
it  in  the  night,  or  that  the  chairs,  and  tables,  and  pots,  ani 
pans,  being  of  a  facetious  disposition,  had  taken  it  into 
their  heads  to  get  on  a  spree  the  night  before,  and  pitch 
themselves  in  all  sorts  of  frantic  attitudes  through  the 
house.  For  the  principal  rule  in  Miss  Jerusha's  "  house- 
cleaning  "  was  first,  with  a  great  deal  of  pains  and  trouble, 
to  fling  chairs,  and  stools,  and  pails,  and  brooms  in  a  mis- 
cellaneous heap  through  each  room,  to  disembowel  closets 
whose  contents  for  the  last  six  months  had  been  a  sealed 
mystery  to  human  eyes,  to  take  down  and  violently  tear 
asunder  unoffending  bedsteads,  and  with  a  stout  stick  inflict 
a  severe  and  apparently  unmerited  castigation  on  harmless 
mattresses  and  feather  beds.  Thib  done.  Miss  Jerusha, 
who  had  immense  faith  in  the  hot  water  system  commenced 
with  a  steaming  tub  of  that  liquid  at  the  topmost  rafter  of 
the  cottage,  and  never  drew  breath  until  every  crevice  and 
cranny  down  to  the  lowest  plank  on  the  ceP^r  floor  hftd 


88  A    TOUHG    TORN  Ana 

undergone  «  severe  application  cf  first  wettug  and  then 
drying. 

Awful  beyond  measare  was  Miss  Jeiusha  on  these 
occasions — enough  to  strike  terror  into  the  heart  of  every 
shiftless  mortal  on  this  terrestrial  globe,  could  he  only 
have  seen  her.  With  her  sleeves  rolled  up  over  her 
elbows,  her  mouth  shut  up,  screwed  up  with  grim  determi- 
nation of  conquering  or  dying  in  the  attempt,  with  an  eye 
like  a  hawk  for  every  invisible  speck  of  dust,  and  the  firm, 
determined  tramp  of  the  leader  of  a  forlorn  hope.  Miss 
Jerusha  marched  through  that  blessed  little  cottage,  a 
broom  in  one  hand  and  a  scrubbing-brush  in  the  other,  a 
sight  to  see,  not  to  hear  of. 

And  then,  having  brushed,  and  scrubbed,  and  scoured, 
and  polished  everything,  from  the  **  best  room  "  down  to 
the  fur  coat  of  Betsey  Periwiakle,  until  it  fairly  shone,  all 
that  could  offend  the  sight  was  poked  back  into  the 
mysterious  closets  again,  another  revolution  swept  through 
every  room,  returning  things  to  their  places,  and  the  whole 
household  was  triumphantly  restored  to  its  former  state  of 
distressing  cleanliness.  And  thus  ended  Miss  Jemsha's 
house-cleaning. 

«  Them  there  three  beds  shill  all  hev  to  come  down  this 
morning,'*  said  Miss  Jerusha,  folding  her  arms,  and  regard- 
ing them  grimly,  "  and  every  one  of  them  blessed  bedposts 
hev  got  to  be  scalded  right  out.  Yon,  Fly  !  «  that  there 
fire  a-burning  ?" 

'*  Tes,  miss,"  answered  Fly,  who  was  tearing  distractedly 
in  and  ont  after  wood  and  water,  and  as  nearly  fulfilling 
the  impossibility  of  being  in  two  places  at  once  as  it  WM 
possible  for  a  mere  mortal  to  do. 

"  And  is  that  biler  of  hot  water  a-bilinT* 


r) 

If 


A    70  UNO    .VRNAJ>a 


**  Yes,  mlBB." 

"  And  did  you  tell  Georgey  to  go  down  to  Bonfi«ld  fw 

■ome  yaller  boap  ?" 

"  Please,  Miss  Jerry,  I  couldn't  find  her.*' 

"Couldn't  find  her,  hey?  What's  the  reason  yoa 
couldn't  find  her  ?"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  in  a  high  key. 

"  'Case  she'd  been  and  gone  away  some  whars.  Please, 
ole  miss,  dar  ain't  nebber  no  sayin*  whar  anybody  can  find 
dat  ar  young  gal,"  replied  Fly,  beginning  to  whimper  in 
anticipation  of  getting  her  ears  boxed  for  not  performing 
an  impossibility. 

«  Gone  away  !  arter  being  told  to  stay  at  home  and  help 
with  the  house-cleaning  I  Oh,  the  little  shif  less  villain.  I 
'olare  ef  I  hadn't  a  good  mind  to  give  her  the  best  switchin' 
ever  she  got  next  time  I  ketch  holt  of  her.  Told  me  this 
morning  she  wasn't  going  to  be  a  dish-washing  old  maid 
like  me  !  a  sassy,  impident  little  monster !  Old,  indeed  ! 
I  vow  to  gracious  only  for  she  dodged  Pd  hev  twisted  her 
her  neck  for  her  I  Old  *  hump !  a  pretty  thing  to  be  called 
at  my  time  o'  life  !  Old,  indeed  !  A  naaty,  ungrateful 
Uttleimp!" 

While  she  spoke,  the  outer  gate  was  slammed  violently 
to  ;  a  slight  little  figure  ran  swiftly  up  the  walk,  and  burst 
like  a  whirlwind  into  the  sacred  precincts  of  the  best  room 
— a  small,  light,  airy  figure,  dressed  in  black,  with  crimson 
cheeks,  and  dancing,  sparkling,  flashing  black  eyes,  fairly 
blazing  with  life  and  health,  and  freedom,  and  high  spirits 
— a  swift,  blinding,  dark,  bright  vision,  so  quick  and 
impetuous  in  every  motion  as  to  startle  you — a  "  thing  all 
life  and  light,"  a  little  tropical  butterfly,  with  the  hidden 
sting  of  a  wasp,  impressing  the  beholder  with  the  idea  cf  ft 
barrel  of  gunpowder,  a  pop-gun,  a  firecracker,  or  anything 


r 


p 


• 


iiy 


10 


A    YOUISQ    TORNADO, 


else,  very  harmless  and  quiet-looking,  but  ready  to  eiplod« 
and  QO  off  with  a  bang  at  any  moment. 

It  was  Georgia — our  little  Geoigia  ;  and  how  she  oam« 
to  be  an  inmate  of  Miss  Jerusha's  cottage  it  requires  us  tc 
go  back  a  little  to  tell. 

On  that  very  Christmas  Eve,  when  with  Deacon  Brown 
she  discovered  the  sleeping  child  and  the  ruined  cottage, 
she  was  for  a  moment  at  a  less  what  to  do.  She  knew  ^ae 
girl  had  fallen  asleep,  unconscious  of  the  dread  presence, 
and  she  had  seen  enough  of  her  to  be  aware  of  the  frantic 
and  passionate  scene  that  must  ensue  when  she  awoke  and 
discovered  her  loss.  She  bent  over  her,  and  finding  her 
sleeping  heavily,  she  lifted  her  gently  in  her  arms,  and  in 
a  few  whispered  words  desired  the  deacon  not  to  remove 
the  corpse,  but  to  drive  her  home  first  with  the  orphan. 

Wrapping  the  half-frozen  child  in  her  warm  cloak,  she 
had  taken  her  seat,  and  was  driven  to  the  cottage  without 
arousing  her  from  her  heavy  slumber,  and  safely  deposited 
her  in  Fly*s  little  bed,  to  the  great  astonishment,  not  to 
say  indignation,  of  that  small,  black  indivi'^ual,  at  finding 
her  couch  thus  taken  summary  possession  of. 

It  was  late  next  morning  when  the  little  dancing  girl 
awoke,  and  then  she  sprang  up  and  gazed  around  her  with 
an  air  of  complete  bewilderment.  Her  first  glance  fell  on 
Miss  Jerusha,  who  was  bustling  around,  helping  Fly  to  get 
breakfast,  and  the  sight  of  that  yellow,  rigid  frontispiece 
'  seemed  to  recall  her  to  a  realization  of  what  had  passed 
the  preceding  night. 

She  sprang  up,  shook  back  her  thick,  disordered  blmok 
hair,  and  exclaimed : 

**  Who  brought  me  hero  ?" 


1 


A    TOUNG    TORNADO. 


41 


Lplodt 

oamo 

B  US  tC 

Brown 

ottage, 

ew  vJe 

esence, 

frantic 

ke  and 

ng  her 

and  in 

remove 

lan. 

ak,  she 

Mrithoat 

iposited 

not  to 

finding 

ng  girl 
er  with 

fell  on 
J  to  get 
tispiece 

passed 

1  blaok 


**  I  did,  honoy,"  said  Miss  Jerasha,  speaking  as  gently 
M  sfie  knew  how,  which  is  not  saying  much. 

"  Where  is  mamma  ?" 

**  Oh,  she's — how  did  yon  sleep  last  night  ?"  said  MiM 
Jerusha,  actually  quailing  inwardly  in  anticipation  of  the 
coming  scene  ;  for,  with  her  strong  nerves  and  plain, 
practical  view  of  things  in  general,  the  good  old  lady  had 
a  masculine  horror  of  scenes. 

<<  Where  is  my  mamma  ?"  said  the  child,  sharply,  fixing 
her  piercing  black  eyes  on  Miss  Jerusha's  face. 

"  Oh,  she's — well,  she  ain't  here." 

"  Where  is  she,  then  ?  You  ugly  old  thing,  what  have 
you  done  to  my  mamma  ?" 

"  Ugly  old  thing  !  Oh,  dear  bless  me  \  th&r^B  a  way  to 
speak  to  her  elders  I'  said  the  deeply  shocked  Miss  Jerusha. 

*'  Wher^i  my  mamma  >"'  exclaimed  the  child,  with  a 
fierce  stamp  of  the  foot. 

"  Little  gal,  look  here  I  that  ain't  no  way  to  talk  to—" 

"  Whbbe's  mt  mamma  ?"  fairly  shrieked  the  little  girl, 
as  she  sprang  forward  and  clutched  Miss  Jerusha's  arm  so 
fiercely  as  to  extort  from  her  a  cry  of  pain. 

"  Ah-a-a-a-a-a !  Oh-h-h-h  !  you  little  crab-fish,  if  you 
ain't  pinched  my  arm  black  and  blue  !  Tour  mamma's 
dead,  and  it's  a  pity  you  ain't  along  with  her,"  said  M'js 
Jerusha,  in  her  anger  and  pain,  giving  the  girl  a  push  that 
sent  her  reeling  against  the  wall. 

"  Dead  1" 

The  word  fell  jike  a  blow  on  the  child,  stunning  her 
into  quiet.  Her  mamma  dead  I  She  could  not  realize— 
she  could  not  comprehend  it. 

She  stood  as  if  frozen,  her  hand  iplifted  as  it  had  been 


4S 


A    TOUNG    TORNADO. 


when  she  heard  it,  her  lips  apart,  her  eyes  wide  opes  aai 
staring.     Dead  !     She  stood  still,  stnnned,  bewildeied. 

Miss  Jerusha  was  absolutely  terrified.  She  had  ex- 
pected tears,  cries,  passionate  grief,  but  not  this  ominous 
itillness.  That  fixed,  rigid,  unnatural  look  chilled  her 
blood.     She  went  over  and  shook  the  child  in  her  alarm. 

"Little  girl !  Georgey  !  don't  look  so — dorCt!  It  ain't 
right,  you  know  !" 

She  turned  her  eyes  slowly  to  Miss  Jerusha's  face,  her 
lips  parted,  and  one  word  slowly  dropped  oat ; 

"  Mamma  I" 

"  Honey,  your  ma's  dead,  and  gone  to  heaven — 1  hope^ 
Baid  Miss  Jerusha,  who  felt  that  common  politeness 
required  her  to  say  so,  although  she  had  her  doubts  on  the 
subject.  "You  mustn't  take  on  about  it,  you — Oh, 
gracious  !  the  child's  gone  stark,  staring  mad  !" 

Her  words  had  broken  the  spell.  Little  Georgia 
realized  it  all  at  last.  With  a  shriek,  — a  wild,  terrifio 
shriek,  that  Miss  Jerusha  never  forgot — she  threw  ap  her 
arms  and  fell  prostrate  on  the  ground. 

And  their  she  lay  and  shrieked.  She  did  not  faint. 
Miss  Jerusha,  with  her  hands  clasped  over  her  bruised  and 
wounded  ear-drums,  wished  from  the  bottom  of  her  heart 
she  would/  but  Georgia  was  of  too  sanguine  a  temperame^^ 
to  faint.  Shriek  after  shriek,  sharp,  prolonged,  and  shrill, 
broke  from  her  lips  as  she  lay  on  her  face  on  the  floor,  her 
bands  clasped  over  her  head. 

Miss  Jerusha  and  Fly,  nearly  frantic  with  tne  ear- 
iplitting  torture,  strove  to  raise  her  up,  but  the  little  fury 
seemed  endowed  with  supernatural  str'^ngth,  and  screamed 
and  struggled,  and  bit  at  them  like  a  mad  thmg,  until  thej 
were  glad  enough  to  go  off  and  leave  her  alone.    And  there 


A    rOUNO    TORNADO, 


•b«  Uy  and  screamed  for  a  full  hour,  until  even  «W  lungt 
of  brass  gave  way,  and  shrieks  absolutely  refmsed  to  come. 

Then  a  new  spirit  seemed  to  enter  the  child.  *^he  Ieap«d 
to  her  feet  as  if  those  members  were  furnished  with  steel 
springs,  and  made  for  the  door.  Fortunately,  Miss  Jerusha 
had  locked  it.  somehow  anticipating  some  such  movement, 
and  in  that  quarter  she  was  foiled.  She  seized  the  lock 
and  shook  the  door  furiously,  stamping  with  impotent 
passion  at  finding  it  resist  all  her  efforts. 

"  Open  the  door  !*'  she  screamed,  with  a  stamp,  turning 
upon  Miss  Jerusha  a  pair  of  eyes  that  glowed  like  those  of 
a  young  tigress. 

The  old  lady  actually  shrank  under  the  burning  light  of 
that  dark,  passionate  glance,  but  composedly  sat  still  and 
knit  away. 

**  Opbn  the  doob  !"  shrieked  the  mad  child,  shaking 
it  so  fiercely  that  Miss  Jerusha  fairly  expected  to  see  the 
lock  come  off  before  her  eyes. 

But  the  lock  resisted  her  efforts.  Delirious  with  her 
frantic  rage,  the  wild  girl  dashed  her  head  against  it  with 
a  shriek  of  foiled  passion— dashed  it  against  it  again  and 
again,  until  it  was  all  cut  and  bleeding  ;  and  then  she  fiew 
at  the  horrified  Miss  Jerusha  like  a  very  fury,  sinking  her 
long  nails  in  her  face  and  tearing  off  the  skin,  like  i  ma- 
niac as  she  was. 

That  at  last  aroused  all  Miss  Jernsha's  wiry  strength, 
and,  grasping  the  child's  wrists  in  a  vise-like  grip,  she  held 
her  fast  while  she  struggled  to  free  herself  in  vain,  for  the 
fictitious  strength  given  her  by  her  storm  of  passion  had  ex- 
hausted itself  by  its  very  violence,  and  every  effort  now  to 
free  herself  grew  fainter  and  fainter,  until  at  Uit  ihc 


r 


44 


JL     TO  UNO    TORNADO. 


iwayed  to  and  fro,  tottered,  and  would  have  fallen  had 
not  Miss  Jerusha  held  her  fast. 

Lifting  her  in  her  arms,  Miss  Jerusha  bore  her  upstairs 
and  laid  her  in  her  own  bed.  And  then  over-cLarged  na- 
ture gave  way,  and,  burying  her  face  in  the  pillow,  Georgia 
burst  into  a  passionate  flood  of  tears,  sobbing  convulsively. 
Long  she  wept,  until  the  fountains  of  her  tears  were  dry, 
and  then,  worn  out  by  her  own  violence,  she  fell  into  a 
dreamless  sleep. 

"  Well,  my  sakes  alive  !"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  drawing  a 
long  breath  and  getting  up,  *^  of  all  the  children  ever  I 
seen  I  never  saw  any  like  that  there  little  limb.  'Clare  to 
gracious  I  there's  something  bad  inside  that  young  gal — 
that 's  my  opinion.  Sich  eyes,  like  bl^zin'  coals  of  fire ! 
My  conscience !  I  really  don't  feel  safe  with  her  in  the 
house." 

But  Georgia  awoke  calm  and  utterly  exhausted,  and 
thus  passed  away  the  first  violence  of  her  grief,  which  like  a 
blaze  of  straw,  burned  np  fiercely  for  a  moment  and  then 
went  out  in  black  ashes.  Still  grave  and  unsmiling  the 
little  girl  went  about,  with  no  life  in  her  face  save  what 
burned  in  her  great  wild  eyes. 

Her  mother  was  buried,  and  so  Miss  Jerusha  with  some 
inward  fear  and  trembling  ventured  to  tell  her  at  last ;  but 
the  child  heard  it  quietly  enough.  She  need  not  have 
feared,  for  it  was  morally  and  physically  impossible  for 
the  little  girl  to  ever  get  up  another  passion-gust  like  the 
last. 

One  source  of  secret  and  serious  anxiety  to  Misa 
Jerufiaa  was  the  fate  of  the  little  boy,  Warren  Darrell. 
Since  that  night  when  she  had  turned  him  from  the  door, 
nothing  had  ever  been  heard  of  him;  no  one  had  seen  1*™, 


m 


TO  UNO    TOBNAJO. 


BO  tnoM  of  him  oould  be  found,  and  one  and  all  came  to 
the  conolasion  that  he  muHt  have  perished  in  the  storm 
that  night.  Miss  Jerusha  too,  had  to  adopt  the  same 
belief  at  last,  and  in  that  moment  she  felt  as  though  she 
had  been  guilty  of  a  murder.  No  one  knew  he  had  come 
to  the  cottage,  and  she  had  her  own  reason  for  keeping  it 
a  secret,  and  for  politely  informing  Fly  she  would  twist 
her  neck  for  her  if  she  ever  mentioned  it ;  and  in  dread  of 
that  disagreeable  operation.  Fly  consented  to  hold  her 
tongue. 

Feeling  as  if  she  ought  to  do  something  to  atone  for 
the  guilt  of  which  her  conscience,  so  often  referred  to  by 
herself,  accused  her.  Miss  Jerusha  resolved,  by  way  of 
the  severest  penance  she  c«uld  think  of,  to  adopt  Georgia. 
Several  of  the  **  selectmen  "  offered  to  take  the  child  and 
send  her  to  the  workhouse,  but  Miss  Jerusha  curtly  ref  utied 
in  terms  much  shorter  than  sweet,  and  snappishly  requested 
them  to  go  and  mind  their  own  affairs  and  she  would  mind 
little  Georgia  Darrell. 

And  BO,  from  that  day  the  little  dancer  became  an 
inmate  of  the  lonely  sea-side  cot.  For  the  first  few  weeks 
she  was  preternaturally  grave  and  still — "in  the  dumps" 
Miss  Jerusha  called  it ;  then  this  passed  away — like  all  the 
grief  of  childhood,  ever  light  and  short-lived — and  then 
Miss  Jerusha  began  to  realize  the  trouble  and  tribulations 
in  store  for  her,  and  the  life  of  worry  and  vexation  of 
spirit  the  restless  elf  would  lead  her. 

In  the  first  place.  Miss  Georgia  emphatica/ly  and  decid- 
edly "put  her  foot  down,"  and  gave  her  guardianess  (if 
such  a  word  is  admissible )  to  understand,  in  the  plainest 
possible  English,  that  she  had  not  the  '*emotest  or  fainteil 
idea  of  doing  one  single  hand's  turn  of  work. 


I 


« 


\ 


41  A    TOUNG    TORNADO. 

« 1  never  had  to  work,''  said  the  young  ady,  drawing 
herself  up,  <<  and  I  ain!t  a-going  to  begin  now  for  anybody. 
I  don't  believe  in  work  at  all,  and  I  don't  think  it  proper, 
no  way." 

In  vain  Miss  Jerusha  expostulated  ;  her  little  ladyship 
heard  her  with  the  most  provoking  indifference.  Then  the 
old  lady  began  to  scold,  whereupon  Georgia  flew  into  one 
of  her  'tantrums,"  as  Miss  Jerusha  called  them,  and, 
springing  to  her  feet,  exclaimed  : 

'*  I  vsonHf  then,  not  if  I  die  for  it !  I've  always  done 
just  whatever  I  liked,  and  I'm  going  to  keep  on  doing  it — 
I  just  am!  And  I  ain't  going  to  be  an  old  pot-wiper  for 
anybody — I  just  ain%  old  taffy  candy  !" 

And  then  the  sprite  bounced  out,  banging  the  door 
after  her  until  the  house  shook,  leaving  Miss  Jerusha  to 
stand  transfixed  with  horror  and  indignation  at  this  last 
"  most  unkindest  cut  of  all,"  which  referred  4,0  the  candy 
Miss  Jerusha  was  in  the  habit  of  making  and  selling  in 
Bumfield. 

And  thus  the  wild,  fearless  child  kept  the  old  lady  in  a 
constant  series  of  tremors  and  palpitations  by  the  dangers 
she  ran  into  headlong.  Not  a  tree  in  the  forest  she  would 
not  climb  like  a  squirrel,  and  often  the  dry  frozen  branches 
breaking  with  her,  she  would  find  it  impossible  to  get  down 
again,  and  have  to  remain  there  until  Miss  Jerusha  would 
get  a  ladder  and  take  her  down.  And  on  these  occasions, 
while  the  old  lady  scolded  and  ranted  down  below,  the 
young  lad/  up  in  her  lofty  perch  would  be  in  convulsions 
of  laughter  at  her  look  of  terror  and  dismay.  Not  a  rock 
on  the  beach,  slippery  and  icy  as  they  were,  she  had  not 
clambered  innumerable  times,  to  the  manifest  dangtr  of 
breaking  her  neck. 


A     TOUNQ    T0R2fAD0. 


47 


)ody. 
pop«r, 

lyship 

m  the 

to  one 

and, 


It  was  well  for  her  she  could  climb  and  oling  to  tLem 
like  a  cat,  or  she  would  most  assuredly  have  been  killed  ; 
ftg  it  was,  she  tumbled  off  two  or  three  times,  thereby 
raising  more  bumps  on  her  head  than  Nature  ever  placed 
there.  Then  she  made  a  point  of  visiting  Burnfield  every 
day,  and  making  herself  acquainted  generally  with  the 
inhabitants  of  that,  little  *'  one-horse  town,"  astonishing  the 
natr.es  to  such  a  degree  by  the  facility  with  which  she 
stood  on  her  head,  or  made  a  hoop  of  herself  by  catching 
her  feet  in  her  hands  and  rolling  over  and  over,  that  some 
of  them  had  serious  doubts  whether  she  was  real,  or  only 
an  optical  delusion.  And  then  her  dancing  I  The  first 
time  Miss  Jerusha  saw  her  she  came  nearer  fainting  than 
she  had  ever  done  before  in  her  life. 

**  Oh,  my  gracious  1"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  in  tones  of 
horror,  when  afterward  relating  the  occurrence,  *^  I  never 
nee  sich  on-christian  actions  before  in  all  my  born  days. 
There  she  was  a-flinging  of  her  legs  about  as  if  they 
belonged  to  somebody  else,  and  a-twistin'  of  her  arms  about 
over  her  head,  and  a-jigging  back  and  forward,  and  a- 
Btandin'  onto  one  blessed  toe  and  spinnin'  round  like  a  top, 
with  the  other  leg  a  stickin'  straight  out  like  a  toastin'-f  ork. 
I  'clare  it  gave  me  sich  a  turn  as  I  hain't  got  over  yit,  and 
never  expects  to.  Oh,  my  conscience  !  It  was  railly  orf  ul 
to  look  at  the  onnatural  shapes  that  there  little  limb  could 
twist  herself  into.  And  to  think  of  her,  when  she  got  done, 
a-kneelin'  down  on  one  knee  as  ii  she  was  say  in'  of  her 
prayers,  as  she  ought  for  to  do,  and  then  take  and  blow  me 
np  for  not  applaudin',  as  she  called  it.  A  sassy  little 
wiper  1" 

Georgia's  daily  visits  to  Burnfield  were  a  serioas  annoy- 
ance to  Miss  Jerusha  ;  for  there  were  some  who  delighted 


48 


A    70UNQ    TORNADO. 


\ 


in  her  wild  antics,  just  as  they  would  in  the  mischievoni 
pranks  of  a  monkey,  encouraged  her  in  her  willfulness,  and 
exhorted  her  to  defy  the  "  Old  Dragon,"  as  Miss  Jerusha 
was  incorrectly  styled.  And  such  a  holddi.!  these  counsels 
take  on  the  mind  of  the  young  girl,  that  she  really  began 
to  look  upon  Miss  Jerusha  in  the  light  of  a  domestic  tyrant 
— a  sort  of  female  Bluebeard,  whom  it  would  not  only  be 
right  and  just  to  defy  and  put  down,  but  morally  wrong 
not  to  do  it.  But  though  this  was  Georgia's  inward  belief, 
yet,  to  her  credit  be  it  spoken,  a  sort  of  chivalrous  feeling 
led  her  always  to  defend  Miss  Jerusha  on  these  occasions  ; 
and  if  any  one  went  too  far  in  sneering  at  her,  Georgia's 
little  brown  fist  was  doabled  up,  and  the  offender,  unlesi 
w^arned  by  some  prudent  friend  to  "  look  out  for  squalls," 
stood  in  considerable  danger. 

Then,  too,  the  chief  delight  of  the  Burnfieldians  was  in 
watching  her  dance ;  and  Georgia,  nothing  loth,  would 
mount  an  extempore  platform,  and  whirl,  and  pirouette, 
and  flash  hither  and  thither,  amid  thunders  of  applause 
from  the  astonished  and  delighted  audience.  Her  singing, 
too— for  Georgia  had  really  a  beautiful  voice,  and  knew 
every  song  that  ever  was  heard  of,  from  Casta  Diva  to  Jim 
Crow — was  a  source  of  never-failing  delight  to  the  town- 
folks,  who  were  troubled  with  very  few  amusements  in 
winter  ;  and  Georgia  was  never  really  in  her  element  save 
when  dancing,  or  singing,  or  showing  off  before  an  andi- 
ence. 

And  so  the  little  explosive  grenade  became  a  well  known 
character  in  Burnfield,  and  Miss  Jerusha*s  injunctions  to 
stay  from  it  went  the  way  of  all  good  advice — that  is,  in 
one  ear  and  out  of  the  other.  No  sort  of  weather  oonld 
keep  the  sprite  in  the  hoase.    The  fiercer  the  wind  blew, 


A    YOUNG    TOSNADO. 


a 


Georgia's  high  spirit  only  rose  the  higher  ;  the  keener  th« 
cold,  the  more  piercing  the  blast,  it  only  flashed  a  deeper 
crimson  to  her  glowing  checks  and  lips,  and  kindled  a 
clearer  light  in  her  bright  black  eyes,  and  she  bounded  like 
a  young  antelope  over  the  frozen  ground,  shouting  with 
irrepressible  life.  Out  amid  the  wildest  winter  storms  you 
might  see  th:»t  small  dark  figure  flying  along  with  streaming 
haii^  bending  and  dipping  to  the  shrieking  blast  that  could 
have  whirled  her  light  form  away  like  a  feather,  flying 
over  the  icy  ground  that  her  feet  hardly  seemed  to  touch. 

Georgia,  wild,  fervid  child,  vowed  she  loved  the  storms  ; 
and  on  tempestuous  nights,  when  the  wind  howled,  and 
raved,  and  shook  the  cottage,  and  roared  through  the  pines, 
«he  would  clap  her  hands  in  glee,  and  run  down  through  it 
all  toward  the  high  rocks  near  the  shore,  and  bend  over  them 
to  feel  the  salt  spray  from  the  white-crested  waves  dash  in 
her  face.  Then,  coming  back,  she  would  scandalize  Miss 
Jerusha,  and  terrify  Fly  nearly  into  fits,  by  protesting  that 
the  white  caps  of  the  waves  were  the  bleached  faces  of 
drowned  men  holding  a  revel  with  the  demons  of  the  storm, 
and  that  whenever  she  died,  she  was  determined  to  be  buried 
in  the  sand,  for  that  no  grave  or  coffin  could  ever  hold  her, 
and  she  knew  she  would  have  splendid  times  with  the 
mermaids,  and  mermen,  and  old  Father  Neptune,  and  Mrs. 
Amphitrite,  and  the  rest  of  them,  in  their  coral  grottoes 
down  below. 

Now,  Miss  Jerusha  was  by  no  means  straitlaced  in 
spiritual  matters  herself,  but  such  an  ungodly  belief  as  thif 
would  shock  even  her,  and,  with  a  deeply  horrified  look, 
■he  would  lay  down  her  knitting  and  begin  : 

'^  Oh,  my  stars   and   garters  I    sich   talk  I     Don't   jom 
know,  you    wicked   child,  that  there  ain't  no   sich  pUuM 
8 


1 


) 


II  A    TOUNO    lORNADO. 

M  that  under  the  sun  ?  There's  nothing  bat  mad,  Mid 
fish-bones,  and  nas^y  sharks  like  what  swallered  Joner 
clown  there.  No,  you  misfortunate  little  limb,  folks  a'lers 
goes  to  heaven  or  t'other  place  when  they  die,  and  it's  my 
belief  you'll  take  a  trip  downward,  and  sarve  you  right, 
too,  you  wicked  little  heathen  you  I" 

"See  here.  Miss  Jerusha,"  said  Georgia,  curiously, 
**  Emily  Murray  says  there's  another  place — sort  of  half- 
way house,  you  know,  with  a  hard  name  ;  let's  see — pug — 
pug — ^no,  purgatory,  that's  it — where  people  that  ain'c 
been  horrid  bad  nor  yet  horrid  good  goes  to,  and  after  be- 
ing scorched  for  awhile  to  take  the  badness  out  of  them, 
they  go  up  to  heaven  and  settle  down  there  for  good.  Ii 
that  BO,  Miss  Jerusha  ?" 

«  There  !"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  dropping  her  knitting  in 
oonsternation,  "  I  allers  said  no  good  would  come  of  her 
going  to  Bumfield  and  taking  up  with  unbelievers  and 
other  wagrants.  Oh,  you  wicked,  drefful  little  gal !  No  y 
there  ain't  no  sich  place;  in  course  there  ain't.  If  you 
had  read  that  pretty  chapter  I  gave  you  in  the  Bible  last 
Sunday  instead  of  tying  Betsey  Perwinkle's  tail  to  her 
hind  leg  and  nearly  setting  of  her  crazy,  you  wouldn't  bo 
■uch  a  benighted  little  heathen  as  you  are." 

"Well,  1  didn't  like  it — there!  All  about  two  ugly 
great  bears  eating  a  lot  of  children  for  calling  somebody 
names.  I  don't  like  things  like  that.  There  ain't  no  fun 
in  reading  about  them,  and  I'd  a  heap  sooner  read  Robin- 
ton  Crusoe;  he  was  a  nice  old  man,  I  know  he  was.  And 
when  I  grow  up  to  be  a  big  woman,  I'm  going  to  find  out 
his  island  and  live  there  myself — yau  see  if  I  don't." 

Miss  Jerusha  gave  a  contemptuous  snoit. 

"  You  grow  up  indeed !    As  if  the  Lord  would  lei  • 


A    YOUNG    TORNADO. 


il 


wicked  Httle  wretch  like  you,  that  helie^es  in  gods  and 
goddesses  and  purgatory  and  such  abominations  grow  up. 
No;  if  you  ain't  carried  off  in  a  flash  of  fire  and  brimstone, 
like  King  Solomon  or  some  of  them,  you  may  think  your> 
self  safe,  my  lady." 

"  Well,  I  don't  care  if  I  am,*  said  Georgia.  **  1  db 
believe  in  mermaids,  because  I've  seen  them  often  and  often, 
and  I  know  they  live  in  beautiful  coral  grottoes  under  the 
sea,  because  I've  read  all  about  it.  And  I  know  there  are 
witches,  and  ghosts  and  fairies,  because  I've  read  all  about 
them  in  the  '  Legends  of  the  Hartz  Mountains,'  the  nicest 
book  that  ever  was,  and  some  Hallow  Eve  I'm  going  to 
try  some  tricks — you  see  if  I  don't." 

The  little  girl's  eyes  were  sparkling,  and  she  was  ges- 
ticulating with  eager  earnestness.  Miss  Jerusha  held  up 
her  hands  in  horror. 

"  My-y  conscience  I  only  hear  her  I  Oh,  what  ever  will 
become  of  that  there  young  gal  ?  Why,  you  wicked 
child,  where  do  you  expect  to  go  when  you  die  ?" 

"  To  heaven,"  said  Georgia,  decidedly. 

« Humph  !"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  contemptuously.  *'  A 
nice  angel  you^d  make,  wouldn't  you  ?  More  likely  the 
other  place.  I  shill  hev  to  speak  to  Mr.  Barebones  to  take 
you  into  his  Bible  class,  for  I  believe  in  my  soul  it  ain't 
safe  to  sleep  in  the  house  with  such  an  unbeliever." 

"  Well,  you  may  speak  to  him  as  fast  as  yon  like,  bat 
I  sba'n't  go.  A  sour,  black  old  ogre,  all  skin  and  bonei, 
like  a  consumptive  red  herring  I  I'm  going  with  Emily 
Murray  to  that  nice  church  where  they  have  all  the  pretty 
pictures,  and  that  nice  old  man,  Em's  uncle,  with  no  half 
on  his  head,  and  all  dressed  up  so  beautifully.  And  old 
Father  Murray  is  just  the  dearest  old  man  ever  was,  and 


f 


A    TO  UNO    TORNADO. 


\ 


') 


hasn't  got  a  long,  solemn  faoe  like  Mr.  Barebones.  Com«y 
Bets,  let  you  and  I  have  a  waltz." 

And  seizing  Betsey  Periwinkle  by  the  two  fore-paws, 
■he  went  whirling  with  her  roand  the  room,  to  the  great 
astonishment,  not  to  say  indignation,  of  that  amiable 
animal,  who  decidedly  disapproved  of  waltzing  in  her  own 
proper  person,  and  began  to  expostulate  in  sundry  indig- 
nant mews  quite  unheeded  by  her  partner,  until  Miss 
Jerusha  angrily  snatched  her  away,  and  would  have 
favored  Georgia  with  a  box  on  the  ear,  only  the  recollection 
or  the  theatre  manager  returned  to  her  memory,  and  her 
uplifted  hand  dropped.  And  Georgia,  laughing  her  shrill, 
peculiar  laugh,  danced  out  of  the  room,  singing  a  snatch 
from  some  elegant  ditty. 

"  Was  there  ever  such  a  aggravating  young  'un  ?" 
exclaimed  Miss  Jerusha,  relapsing  into  her  chair.  <'I 
sartinly  shiU  hev  to  speak  to  Mr.  Barebones  about  her. 
Gracious  !  what  a  thing  it  is  to  be  afflicted  with  children  !*' 

True  to  her  word.  Miss  Jerusha  did  speak  to  Mr.  Bare- 
bones, and  that  sealous  Christian  promised  to  take  Georgia 
in  hand  ;  but  the  young  lady  not  only  flatly  refused  to 
listen  to  a  word,  but  told  him  her  views  of  matters  and 
things  in  general,  and  of  himself  in  particular,  so  plainly 
and  decidedly,  that,  in  high  dudgeon,  the  minister  got  up, 
pat  on  his  hat,  and  took  himself  off. 

And  so  Miss  Georgia  was  left  to  her  own  devices,  and 
stood  in  a  fair  way  of  becoming  a  veritable  savage,  when 
an  event  occurred  that  gave  a  new  spring  to  her  energies, 
and  tamed  the  current  of  her  existence  in  aaotker  dine* 
lioB. 


MEW  AOqUAJNTANOBS, 


CHAPTER  IV. 


•aomOIA   MAKB8  BOMB   NBW  AOQUillfTAVOli^ 


"  Hit  boyish  form  was  middle  liMi 
For  feat  of  strength  or  exerciie 

Shaped  in  proportion  fair; 
▲nd  hazel  wa<i  his  eagle  eye, 
A.nd  auburn  of  the  darkest  dye 

His  short  and  curling  hair. 
Light  was  his  footstep  in  the  dane% 

And  firm  his  stirrup  in  the  lista — 
And,  oh,  he  bad  that  merry  glance 

That  seldom  lady's  heart  resists." 


I8S  J  ERUSHA'S  memorable  «  Lonse-oleaning  " 
was  over,  and  tbe  cottage  having  been  polished 
till  it  shone,  and  everything  inside  and  outside 
reduced  to  the  frightfully  clean  state  that 
characterized  everything  belonging  to  that  worthy  lady, 
she  was  prepared  to  sit  down  aud  enjoy  the  reward  of  her 
labors,  and  the  pleasure  of  an  approving  conscience.  Fly 
and  Betsey  Periwinkle,  who  had  been  in  an  excessively 
damp  and  limber  state  for  the  last  few  days,  and  whom 
Miss  Jerusha  had  kept  tearing  in  and  out  and  up  and  down 
like  a  couple  of  comets,  were  at  last  permitted  to  dry  out, 
and  might  now  safely  venture  to  call  their  souls  their  own 
again. 

Georgia,  who  rather  liked  a  fuss  than  otherwise,  quite 
enjoyed  the  house-cleaning,  aud  spent  an  unusnally  large 
portion  of  her  valuable  time  at  the  cottage  while  that 
domestic  revolution  was  in  full  blast ;  now  that  it  was  over, 


M 


QEOBOIA    MAKES   SOME 


' 


t 


■be  began  to  resume  her  slightly  vagabondieh  habit  of 
roamin^^  ronnd  the  country,  always  up  to  her  eyes  in  baii- 
ness,  yet  never  bringing  about  any  particular  result 
excepting  that  of  mischief.  When  Georgia  wished  to 
enjoy  the  pleasures  of  solitude,  which  was  not  often,  she 
■trolled  off  to  the  beach,  where,  perched  on  top  of  a  high 
rock,  she  meditated  ^n  the  affairs  of  the  StPte,  or  whatever 
other  subject  happened  to  weigh  on  her  mind  at  the 
moment. 

One  morning  she  started  off  for  her  favorite  seat  in 
order  to  have  a  quite  read,  having  inveigled  Miss  «!/  erusha 
out  of  the  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  for  that  purpose,  in  lieu  of 
something  more  entertaining.  Now  this  beach  being  so  far 
removed  from  Burnfield,  its  solitude  was  rarely,  if  ever, 
disturbed ;  therefore,  great  was  Georgia's  surprise  upon 
reaching  it,  to  find  a  shady  spot  under  her  own  favorite 
rock  already  occupied. 

Miss  Georgia  came  to  a  sudden  halt,  and,  standing  on 
tiptoe,  gravely  surveyed  the  new-comer,  herse*/  juseen. 

Under  the  shadow  of  the  overhanging  ro^A^  '>r<the  warm 
sands,  lay  a  tall,  slight,  fashionably  drf,<A«^  youth,  of 
sixteen  or  thereabouts,  with  handsome,  r6/nlar  features,  a 
complexion  of  feminine  fairness,  a  prorasion  of  brown, 
curling  hair,  a  high  forehead,  and  unusua  ly  and  aristocrat- 
ically small  hands  and  feet,  the  former  as  white  as  a  lady's. 
The  predominating  expression  of  his  face  was  a  mixture  of 
indolence  and  drollery  ;  and  as  he  lay  there,  with  hie  half 
closed  eyes,  he  looked  the  very  picture  of  the  dclcefar 
niente, 

"  Well,  now,"  thought  Georgia,  "  I  wonder  wl.  -  you  are, 
and  where  you  came  from.    I'll  just  go  and  ask  him,  though 


NEW   ACqUAlNTANCES. 


05 


I  do  believo  he's  asleep.  If  he  is,  I  reckon  I'll  wake  him  in 
double-quick  time." 

And  Georgia,  not  being  in  the  slightest  degree  troubled 
with  that  disease  incident  to  youth,  previous  to  the  days  of 
Toung  America,  yclept  bashfulness,  marched  up  to  the 
intruder,  and  planting  herself  before  him,  put  her  arms 
akimbo,  and  assuming  a  look  of  stern  investigation,  began  : 

"  Ahem  !    See  here,  yow,  where  did  you  come  from  ?" 

The  young  gentleman  thus  addressed  leisurely  opened 
a  pair  of  large,  dark  eyes,  and  quietly  surveyed  his  inter- 
rogator from  head  to  foot,  without  disturbing  himself  in 
the  slightest  degree,  or  betraying  the  smallest  intention  of 
moving. 

Very  properly  provoked  at  this  aggravating  conduct, 
Georgia's  voice  rose  an  octave  higher,  as  she  said,  authori- 
tatively : 

<<  Can't  you  r^peak  ?  Haven't  you  a  tongue  ?  I  suppose 
it's  the  Ias'>  improvement  in  politeness  not  to  answer  when 
you're  spoken  to." 

This  speech  seemed  to  bring  the  yonng  gentleman  to  a 
proper  sense  of  his  errors.  Getting  up  on  his  elbow,  he 
took  oft  his  hat  and  began  : 

'*  My  dear  young  lady,  I  beg  ten  thousand  pardons,  bat 
really  at  the  moment  you  spoke  I  was  just  debating  within 
myself  whether  you  were  a  veritable  fact  or  only  an 
optical  illusion.  Having  now  satisfied  myself  on  that  head, 
I  beg  you  will  repeat  your  questions,  which,  unfortunately, 
in  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  I  did  not  pay  proper 
attention  to,  and  any  information  regarding  myself  per- 
onally  and  privately,  or  concerning  the  world  at  large^  that 
it  lies  in  my  power  to  offer  you,  I  shall  be  only  too  happy 
to  commnnicate." 


QBOEGIA    MASSES   SOME 

And  with  tLis  speech  the  young  gentleman  bowed  once 
more,  without  rising,  however,  replaced  his  hat,  and  getting 
himself  into  a  comfortable  position,  lay  back  on  the  sands, 
and  supporting  his  head  on  his  hands,  composedly  waited 
to  be  cross-examined. 

"  Humph  !"  said  Georgia,  regarding  him  doubtfully. 
**  What  is  your  name  ?" 

"  My  name  is  Noryal ;  on  the  Grampian  hills — that  is, 
it  might  have  been  Norval,  only  it  happened  to  be  Wildair 
— Charley  Wildair,  at  your  service,  noted  for  nothing  in 
particular  but  good-nature  and  idleness.  And  now,  having 
satis^ed  your  natural  and  laudable  curiosity  on  that  point, 
may  I  humbly  venture  to  ask  the  name  of  the  fascinating 
young  lady  who  at  this  particular  moment  honors  me  with 
her  presence  ?" 

**  Well,  you  may.  My  name's  Georgia  Darrell,  and  I 
live  up  there  in  that  little  cottage.  Now,  where  do  you  live  ?" 

"  Miss  Darrall,  allow  me  to  observe  that  it  affords  me 
the  most  dreadful  and  excruciating  hai^^iness  to  make  the 
acquaintance  of  so  charming  and  accomplished  a  young  lady 
as  yourself,  and  also  to  observe,  that  in  all  my  wanderings 
through  this  nether  world,  it  has  never  been  my  good 
fortune  before  to  behold  so  peifeotly  fascinating  a  cottage 
as  that  to  which  you  refer.  Regarding  my  own  place  of 
residence,  I  cannot  inform  you  positively,  being  a — *  in 
point  of  fact,'  as  my  cousin  Feenix  has  it — a  wanderer  and 
vagabond  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  with  no  fixed  place  of 
abode  My  maternal  ancestor  resides  in  a  place  called 
Brooklyn,  a  younger  sister  of  New  York  city,  and  when 
not  doing  up  my  education  in  the  aforesaid  city,  I  honor 
that  venerable  roof-tree  with  my  presence.  At  present,  if 
yon  observe,  I  am  vegetating  in  the  flourishing  and  intensely 


SEW   ACqunNTANCEB, 


91 


slow  town  of  Burnfield  over  yonder,  with  my  respected  and 
deeply  venerated  uncle,  Mr.  Robert  Richmond,  a  gentleman 
chiefly  remarkable  for  the  length  of  his  purse  and  the 
shortness  01  his  temper." 

"  Squire  Richmond's  nephews  !  I  heard  they  2ad  some. 
Are  you  them  ?"  inquired  Georgia,  stepping  back  a  pace, 
and  speaking  in  a  slightly  awed  tone. 

"  Exactly,  Miss  Darrell.  With  your  usual  penetration 
and  good  genius,  you  have  hit  the  right  thing  exactly  in 
the  middle ;  only,  if  you  will  allow  me,  I  must  insinuate 
that  I  am  not  his  nephews — not  being  an  editor,  I  have  not 
the  good  fortune  to  be  a  plural  individual ;  but  with  my 
Brother  Richard  we  do,  I  am  happy  to  infoiTU  you, 
constitute  the  dutiful  nephews  of  your  Burnfield  magnate, 
Squire  Richmond." 

<*Hum-m-m  !"  said  Georgia,  looking  at  him  with  a 
puzzled  expression,  and  not  exactly  liking  his  indolent  look 
and  intensely  ceremonious  tone.  ^*  Ton  ain't  laughing  at 
me,  are  you?"  v  v 

"  Laughing  at  you  !  Miss  Darrell,  if  you'll  just  be  kind 
enough  to  cast  an  eye  on  my  countenance  you'll  observe 
it's  considerably  more  serious  than  an  undertaker's,  or  that 
of  a  man  with  a.  sick  wife  when  told  she  is  likely  to  recover. 
Allow  me  to  observe.  Miss  Darrell,  that  I  suffered  through 
the  *  principles  of  politeness '  when  I  was  an  innocent  and 
guileless  little  shaver,  in  checked  pinafores,  and  I  hope  I 
know  the  proprieties  better  than  to  laugh  at  a  lady.  A 
fellow  that  would  laugh  at  a  young  woman.  Miss  Darrell, 
deserves  to  be — to  be — a — a  mark  for  the  finger  of  scorn 
to  poke  fun  at !  Tes,  Miss  Darrell,  I  repeat  it,  he  degervei 
to  be  a — I  don't  know  what  he  doesn't  deserve  to  be !"  said 
Mr.  Wildair,  firmly. 


':| 


z<    1 


' 


i 


68 


GEORGIA    MARES    SOME 


**  Well,"  said  Georgia,  rather  mollified,  '*  and  what  did 
you  come  up  here  for,  anyway,  eh  ?" 

"  Why,  you  see.  Miss  Darrell,  the  fact  was,  I  was  what 
you  call  expelled, — which  !7eing  translated  from  the  original 
Greek  into  plain  slang,  the  chosen  lang*iage  of  young 
America, — ^means  I  was  politely  requested  to  vamose." 

«  Oh,"  said  Georgia,  puckering  up  her  lips  as  though 
she  were  going  to  whistle,  "you  mean  they  turned  you 
out?" 

"  Pre-cisely  I  exactly  !  They  couldn't  properly  appre* 
ciate  me,  you  know.  Genius  never  is  appreciated,  if  you 
observe,  but  is  always  neglected,  and  snubbed,  and  put  upon, 
in  this  world.  Look  at  Shakespeare,  and  Oliver  Goldsmith, 
and  all  those  other  old  fellows  that  got  up  works'  of  fiction, 
and  see  the  hard  times  and  tribulations  they  had  of  it." 

*<And  how  long  are  you  going  to  stay  here?"  asked 
Georgia. 

"  That  depends  upon  as  long  as  I  behave  nicely,  and 
don't  endeavor  to  corrupt  the  minds  of  the  rising  genera- 
tion of  Bumfield,  I  suppose.  I've  been  a  perfect  angel 
since  I  came,  and  would  be  at  all  times  if  they  didn't 
aggravate  me.     My  mother  was  very  disagreeable." 

«  My  mother  was  net — manmia  never  was  disgreeable," 
said  Georgia. 

*<  Indeed  I  Wonderful  old  lady  she  must  have  been 
then  I    Is  she  living  ?" 

"  No  :  she's  dead,"  said  Georgia,  looking  down  with  fill- 
ing eyes. 

"  Ah  !  excuse  me.    I  didn't  know,"  said  the  boy,  \umV 
ily.     "And  your  father?" 
"Dead,  too." 
"  Possible  1    With  whom  do  you  live  r 


NEW    AOqVAlNTANOMB, 


**  Miss  Jerusha." 

*«  Miss  Jerusha — who  ?" 

<<  Skamp.    She  lives  up  in  that  cottage.** 

"  Skamp  I  There's  a  pretty  name  to  talk  about  1  Old- 
lady,  is  she  r 

"  Yes  ;  old  and  ugly." 

*'Ah!  I  guess  I  sha'n't  mind  an  introduction,  then. 
And  what  brings  you  down  here,  Miss  Darrell?  It's  my 
time  to  ask  questions  now." 

"  Why,  I  came  down  here  to  read;  and  now,  look  here, 
I  wish  you  wouldn't  keep  on  calling  me  Miss  Darrell;  it 
sounds  as  if  you  were  laughing  at  me.    Say  Georgia." 

"With  all  my  heart.  Georgia  be  it— on  one  con- 
dition." 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?" 

"  That  you  call  me  Charley." 

*<  Of  course  I'll  call  you  Charley,"  said  Georgia,  decided 
ly;  <'  I  intended  to  all  along.    You  didn't  expect  Pd  say 
mister,  did  you  ?" 

*'  Of  course  I  didn't;  I  never  indulge  in  absurd  expect- 
ations. And  may  I  ask  the  name  of  the  book  so  fortunate 
as  to  find  favor  in  your  eyes.  Miss  Georgia?" 

"Well,  it's  the  'Pilgrim's  Progress.'  I  don't  think 
much  of  it  either — all  about  a  man  going  on  a  journey,  and 
getting  into  all  sorts  of  scrapes.  I  don't  believe  it  ever 
happened  at  all,  for  my  part.  And  now,  as  you  seem  to 
like  taking  things  easy,  I  guess  I  will  too;  so  here  we  go!" 
said  Georgia,  as,  shoving  the  book  into  her  pocket,  she 
made  a  spring  forward,  and  by  some  mysterious  sleight  of 
hand,  only  understood  by  cats,  monkeys,  sailors,  .and 
depraved  youths  given  to  mischief,  she  clambered  up  the 
steep  side  of  the  high,  smooth  rock,  and  perched  herself  in 


•0 


GEORGIA    MAKES   SOME 


m 


1: 


Ht. 


triumph  on  the  top,  like  a  female  Apollo  on  the  apex  of 
Monnt  Parnassus. 

The  young  gentleman  on  the  sands  lifted  himself  on  hii 
elbow  and  started  at  the  little  girl  in  a  sort  of  indolent 
wonder  at  this  energetic  proceeding. 

"Eh,  what?  you're  up  there,  are  you?  May  I  ask, 
Miss  Georgia,  if  it  is  your  custom  to  perch  yourself  up 
there,  like  Patience  on  a  monument,  whenever  you  wish  to 
appreciate  the  beauties  of  literature  ?  Oh  !  the  amount  of 
unnecessary  trouble  people  put  themselves  to  in  this  world! 
Now  why — I  simply  ask  as  a  matter  of  courtesy — what 
possible  object  can  you  have  in  risking  your  neck  in  order 
to  be  slightly  elevated  above  your  fellow-mortals,  eh  ?" 

"  Just  for  fun,"  said  Georgia,  as  standing  on  one  toe 
she  cut  a  pigeon-wing,  at  the  imminent  danger  of  tumbling 
off  and  breaking  her  neck. 

"  For  fun  I  Well,  it's  singular  what  perverted  notions  of 
amusement  some  people  have.  Now  I — I'm  about  as  fond 
of  that  sort  of  a  thing,  I  may  safely  say,  as  any  other 
youth;  yet  you'll  excuse  me  when  I  say  I  really  cannot  see 
the  point  of  that  joke  at  all." 

"  JoM  couldn't  do  it,"  said  Georgia,  exultingly;  "bet 
you  any  thing  you  could  not." 

"  Well,  now,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  the  youth, 
surveying  the  rock  slowly  with  his  large,  indolent  eyee ; 
"  of  course,  it's  not  polite  or  proper  to  contradict  a  lady,  or 
else  I  should  beg  leave  to  differ  from  yon  in  that  opinion. 
There  are  precious  few  things.  Miss  Georgia,  that  I  ever 
attempted  and  failed  to  execute,  though  I  say  it.  I'm 
what  you  may  call  a  universal  genius,  you  know,  equal  to 
a  steep  rock,  or  any  other  emergency,  up  to  anything, 
ftneient  or  modem,  or,  to  use  another  favorite  and  expretr 


imW    ACqVAlNTANCES, 


•i 


ire  phrase  of  Young  America,  a  class  to  whiou  I  am  proud 
to  belong — I  am,  in  every  sense  of  the  word,  *  up  to  snuff.' " 

"  Bother  !"  exclaimed  Georgia,  to  whom  this  homily, 
like  all  the  lad's  speeches,  was  Greek,  or  ther»about8. 
*^  It's  all  very  fine  to  lie  there  like  a  lazy  old  porpoise,  and 
talk  such  stuff,  but  you  can't  climb  this  rook,  say  what  you 
like — now  then." 

*^  Can't  I  though  !"  exclaimed  Master  Charley,  flinging 
away  his  cigar  and  springing  up  with  more  energy  than 
might  have  been  expected  from  his  previous  indolence, 
which,  however,  was  more  than  half  affected.  "  By  Jove  1 
then,  here  go«g  to  try.  Miss  Georgia,  if  in  my  efforts  in 
your  service  I  turn  out  to  be  a  case  of  *  Accidentally  killed,' 
you'll  see  that  the  coroner's  inquest  is  held  properly,  and 
that  all  my  goods  and  chattels,  consisting  of  a  cigar-case, 
a  clean  shirt,  and  a  jackknife,  are  promptly  forwarded  to 
my  bereaved  relative.  Now  then,  here  goes  !  *  IHeu  et 
mon  droit  /'  " 

So  saying,  the  lad,  with  a  great  deal  more  skill  and 
agility  than  Georgia  had  given  him  credit  for,  began 
climbing  up  the  high  rock.  It  was  no  easy  task,  however, 
lor  the  sides  were  quite  perpendicular  and  almost  perfectly 
smooth,  only  suited  to  sailors  and  other  aquatic  monsters 
ased  to  climbing  impossible  places. 

Georgia  clapped  her  hands  and  laughed  her  shrill  elfish 
taugh  at  his  desperate  efforts,  and,  taunted  by  this,  the  boy 
made  a  sudden  spring  at  the  top,  missed  his  footing,  and 
tumbled  off  backward  on  the  sands  below. 

With  a  sharp  exclamation  of  alarm,  Georgia,  with  one 
flying  leap,  sprang  clear  off  the  beetling  rock,  and  alighted, 
cat-like,  on  her  feet  by  his  side.  The  lad  lay  perfectly 
still,  and  Georgia,  terrifled  beyond  measure,  bent  over  and 


OEORQIA    MAKES   BOMB 


\ 


Hi 


tried  to  raise  him,  and  not  succeediDg  in  this,  suddenly 
bethought  herself  of  Miss  Jerusha's  infallible  plan  foi  all 
dietresses,  mental  and  bodily,  and,  catching  him  by  the 
shoulder,  gave  him  a  sound  shaking. 

This  \igorous  proceeding  had  the  effect  of  completely 
restoring  Master  Charley,  who  had  been  for  the  moment 
■tunned  by  the  force  of  the  fall,  and,  opening  his  eyes,  he 
slowly  raised  himself  and  looked  with  a  slightly  bewildered 
glance  around. 

"  Well,  I  knew  you  couldn't  do  it,"  cried  Georgia,  who, 
now  observing  that  he  was  not  killed,  recovered  all  her 
aggravating  love  of  teasing. 

"  Ugh  I  you  tantalizing  little  pepper-pod  1  that's  the 
sort  of  remorse  you  feel  after  nearly  depriving  the  world 
of  one  of  its  brightest  ornaments.  'Pon  my  word,  I  never 
was  so  nearly  extinguished  in  all  my  Ufe.  Ain't  you 
ashamed  of  yourself.  Miss  Georgia,  now  that  you've  been 
and  gone  and  done  and  made  me  put  my  foot  in  it  so 
beautifully  ?  And  speaking  of  feet  re^iinds  n^e  thai^  I  have 
given  my  ankle  a  ti^ist,  and  must  see  whether  it  is  to  be 
relied  upon  or  not  for  the  journey  home,  two  miles  being 
no  joke,  even  at  the  best  times." 

So  saying,  Mr.  Wildair  got  m  his  feet  and  attempted 
to  walk,  an  experiment  which  resulted  in  his  making  a  very 
wry  face — and  uttering  something  like  a  subdued  howl,  and 
finally  sinking  back  in  his  former  position. 

*'  Well,  here's  a  precious  go,  and  no  mistake  !"  was  th« 
exolamation  jerked  out  of  him  by  the  exigency  of  the  casd  ; 
**  here's  my  ankle  has  thought  proper  to  go  and  sprain 
itsoif,  and  now  I'll  leave  it  to  society  in  general  if  I'm  not 
in  just  the  tallest  sort  of  a  fix.  Yes,  yon  may  stare  and 
look  blank,  Miss  Georgia,  but  PlI  repeat  it,  you've  used  km 


NEW   ACqUAlNTA^^  JE8, 


■hamefully,  Miss  Georgia,  yes,  abominably,  Miss  Oeorgia, 
and  if  you  keep  on  like  this,  you  stand  a  fair  chance  of 
sharing  ray  own  elevated  destiny.  You  perceive  l*m  a  fix- 
ture here,  and  may  as  well  take  up  my  quarters  where  I  »m 
for  life,  for  out  of  this  I  can't  go." 

"Whatever  will  you  do?"  exclaimed  Georgia,  ia 
dismay. 

"  Why,  come  to  anchor  here,  of  course ;  walking's  oat 
of  the  question.  If  you  would  be  so  obliging  as  to  hunt 
me  up  a  soft  rock  to  sleep  on,  and  where  I  could  compose 
myself  decently  for  death,  it  would  be  more  agreeable  to 
my  feelings  than  to  scorch  here  in  the  sand.  Attempt  to 
walk  I  positively  can't  and  won't,  traveling  on  one  foot  not 
being  the  pleasantest  or  speediest  mode  of  locomotion  iD 
the  world." 

"  Now,  I  declar'^,  if  it  ain't  too  bad.  I'm  real  sorry,** 
■aid  Georgia,  whose  sympathies  were  all  aroused  by  the 
good-humor  with  which  Master  Charley  bore  his  painful 
accident. 

"  Well,  I  wouldn't  take  it  too  much  to  heart  if  I  were 
you,  Miss  Georgia  ;  it  might  have  been  worse,  you  know — 
my  neck,  for  instance." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Georgia,  "  I've  got  an  idea." 

"  Pshaw  I  you're  only  joking,"  said  Charley,  increda- 
lously. 

"  No,  I  ain't ;  I'll  go  for  Miss  Jerusha,  and  make  her 
come  here  and  help  you  up.     You  wait." 

"  Really,"  began  Charley,  but  without  waiting  to  hear 
him,  Georgia  bounded  off,  and  clambering  up  the  bank  with 
two  or  three  flying  leaps  reached  the  high  road,  and  rushed 
impetuously  along  toward  the  cottage. 

"  There's  an  original  for  you,"  said  the  proprietor  o# 


H  QEOROIA    MSXES   SOME 

the  flprained  ankle,  looking  after  Georgia.  Well,  thii 
sprained  ankle  is  mightj  pleasant,  I  must  say.  If  the  old 
lady  oomes  down  she'll  have  to  carry  me  on  her  back,  for 
walk  I  won't." 

Georgia,  meanwhile,  on  charitable  thoughts  intent, 
rushed  along  where  she  was  going,  and  the  consequence 
was  that  she  ran  with  stunning  force  against  some  person 
or  persons  unknown  advancing  from  the  opposite  direction. 

**  Heads  up  !"  said  a  pleasant  voice  ;  and  Georgia,  who 
betrayed  symptoms  of  an  insane  desire  to  pitch  head  over 
heels,  was  restored  to  her  center  of  gravity.  "  Rather  an 
energetic  mode  of  doing  business  this,  I  must  say." 

Georgia  looked  up,  and  jerked  herself  from  the  grasp 
of  the  stranger,  a  young  man,  dressed  in  a  student's  plain 
sait  of  black,  who  stood  looking  at  her  with  a  smile. 

<*  What  did  you  run  against  me  for  ?"  said  Georgia, 
with  one  of  her  scowls,  instantly  taking  the  offensive. 

**  Run  against  you !  Why,  you  are  reversing  cases, 
madam.     Allow  me  to  insinuate  that  you  ran  against  me." 

**  I  didn't,  either  1  I  mean  I  shouldn't  if  you  hadn't 
poked  yourself  right  in  my  way."  Then,  as  a  sudden  idea 
straok  her,  she  breathlessly  resumed:  *'  Oh,  yes;  you'll  do 
belter  than  Miss  Jerushat  Come  along  with  me  to  the 
beach,  and  help  him  up  I"  said  Georgia,  gesticulating  with 
much  earnestness. 

'^llelp  who  np,  my  impetuous  little  lady?"  said  the 
young  man,  with  a  smile. 

"  Why,  A»m,  you  know  I  He  tumbled  off — ^I  knew  he 
would  all  along — and  went  and  sprained  his  ankle,  and 
now  he  can't  get  up.  It  hurts  him,  I  know,  though  he 
4on't  make  a  fuss  or  nothing,  but  talks  and  look«  droll- 
nice  fellow,  I  know  he  is  !     Help  him  up  to  our  house,  and 


J^EW   ACqVAlNTANCBa,  U 

Miss  Jernshall  fLi.  him  off,  ihe  will !    Come  I  come  along, 

can't  yon?" 

All  this  time  Georgia  had  stood,  with  sparkling  eyes, 
gesticulating  eagerly,  as  was  her  habit  when  excited;  and 
now  she  caught  him  by  the  arm  and  pulled  him  vigorously 
along. 

The  stranger,  with  a  laugh,  allowed  himself  to  be  borne 
on  by  this  breathless  little  whirlwind  ;  and  in  less  than  ten 
minutes  after  she  had  left  him,  Georgia  stood  beside  Char- 
ley Wildair  on  the  beach. 

Charley  looked  up  as  they  approached,  and  glancing 
U  her  comp&nion,  exclaimed: 

"  Hallo,  Rich  I  Well,  heroes  a  slice  of  good  luck,  any- 
way. How  in  the  world  did  you  scare  him  up,  Mis» 
Georgia?" 

<*  Why  he  ran  against  me,"  said  Georgia,  '<  aod  nearly 
knocked  my  brains  out.     Do  you  know  him  ?" 

"  I  should  think  I  did — rather  I"  said  Charley,  emphati- 
cally. *'  Here,  Rich,  come  and  help  me  up,  there's  a  good 
fellow  1" 

"What  have  yon  been  at  now?"  said  Rich,  as  he 
obeyed.     '*  Some  piece  of  nonsense,  Til  be  bound." 

*'  No,  sir,  I  haven't  been  at  nonsense.  I  was  attempting 
to  treat  myself  to  a  rise  in  the  world  by  climbing  np  that 
rock,  and,  losing  my  equilibrium,  the  first  thing  I  knew  I 
was  gracefully  extended  at  full  length  on  the  sands,  with 
one  limb  slightly  diilocated,  as  completely  floored  an 
individual  as  vou  ever  clapped  your  eyes  on.  For  further 
particulars,  ajply  to  Miss  Georgia  here.  And  that  reminds 
me,  you  haven't  been  duly  presented  to  that  young  woman. 
Allow  me  to  repair  that  error  before  proceeding  to  businesa 
Miss  Darrell,  let  me  have  the  pleasure  of  presenting  to 


NEW  ACQUAINTANCES, 


your  diBtiuguished  notioe,  my  brother,  Mr.  Richmond  Wil« 
dair,  a  young  man  ohiefly  remarkable  for  a  rash  and  inordi- 
nate attachment  for  musty  old  books,  and — having  his  own 
way.  Mr.  Wildair,  Miss  Georgia  Darrell,  a  young  lady 
whose  many  estimable  qualities  and  aggravating  will  of 
her  own  require  to  be  seen  to  be  appreciated.    Ahem." 

And  having,  with  great  empressment  and  pomposityi 
delivered  himself  of  this  "  neat  and  appropriate  "  speech, 
Mr.  Charles  Wildair  drew  himself  up  with  dignity — which, 
as  he  was  obliged  to  stand  on  one  foot,  with  the  other 
elevated  in  the  air,  hardly  made  the  impression  it  was 
intended  to  make. 

Mr.  Richmond  Wildair  held  out  his  hand  to  Georgia 
with  a  smile,  and,  after  looking  at  it  for  a  moment,  in 
evident  doubt  as  to  the  propriety  of  shaking  hands  with 
him,  she  at  last  consented  to  do  so  with  a  grave  solemnity 
quite  irresistible. 

And  thus  Richmond  Wildair  and  Georgia  Darrell  met 
for  the  first  time.  And  little  did  either  dream  of  what  the 
future  had  in  store  for  them,  as  they  stood  side  by  side  on 
the  sande  in  the  golden  light  of  shat  breezy,  soABhinj  May 
Moraing. 


dWil. 
inordi- 
lis  own 
5  lady 
virill  of 
n." 
positj, 
ipeeoh, 
which, 
I  other 
it  was 

Georgia 
ent,  in 
s  with 
emnity 

)U  met 
hat  the 
Bide  on 
lyMay 


•LADY    MACBSTS," 


CHAPTKB  V. 


« 


LADT  MACBETH. 


99 


**  Who  that  had  seen  her  form  lo  l^flit, 
For  swiftness  only  turned, 
Would  e'er  have  thought  in  a  thing  io  alight, 
ttuoh  a  fiery  spirit  burned.'* 

I KD  DOW  what  am  I  expected  to  do  next  ?*'  laid 
Hoohmond,  looking  at  his  two  companions. 
"  I  am  entirely  at  yonr  service,  monsieur  and 
mademoiselle." 

"  Why,  you  rau8t  help  him  up  to  our  houje,"  said 
Georgia,  in  her  peremptory  tone,  "  and  let  Miss  Jeru..ua  do 
something  for  his  lame  ankle." 

"  And  after  that  you  must  transport  yourself  over  to 
Burnfield  with  all  possible  dispatch,  and  procure  a  cart, 
oar,  gig,  wagon,  catriage,  wheelbarrow,  or  any  other 
vehicle  wherein  my  remains  can  be  hauled  to  that  thriving 
town,  for  walking,  you  perceive,  is  a  moral  and  physical 
impossibility." 

*<A11  right  I"  said  Richmond.  "Here,  take  my  arm. 
How  will  you  manage  to  get  up  this  steep  bank  ?  Do  you 
think  you  can  walk  it  ?" 

"  Nothing  like  trying,"  said  Charley,  as  leaning  on  his 
brother's  arm  he  limped  along,  while  Georgia  went  before 
to  show  them  the  way.  "  Ah,  that  was  a  twinge.  The 
gout  must  be  a  nice  thing  to  have  if  it  is  at  all  like  this.  I 
never  properly  felt  for  those  troubled  with  that  fashionable 
and  aristocratic  disease  before,  but  the  amount  of  sympathy 
I  shall  do  for  the  future  will  be  something  terrifying  Hero 
we  are ;  now  then,  up  w«  go." 


w. 


.1 


88  **LAD7   MACBETS."* 

Bat  Master  Charley  found  that  '*  up  ire  go  **  waf  easier 
said  than  done.  He  attempted  to  moant  the  bank,  bat  at 
the  first  effort  he  reooiled,  while  a  flush  of  pain  overspread 
his  pale  features. 

<<  No  go,  trying  to  do  that ;  get  up  there  I  can't  if  they 
were  to  make  me  Khan  of  Tartary  for  doing  it.  Ah — ^h — ^h  \ 
there's  another  twinge,  as  if  a  red-hot  poker  had  been 
plunged  into  it.  The  way  that  ankle  can  go  into  the  ach- 
ing business  requires  to  be  felt  to  be  appreciated." 

Though  he  spoke  lightly,  yet  two  scarlet  spots,  forced 
there  by  the  intense  pain,  burned  on  either  cheek. 

Richmond  looked  at  him  anxiously,  for  he  loved  bis 
wild,  harum-scarum,  hanosome  young  brother  with  a  strong 

love. 

<<  Oh,  he  can't  walk  ;  I  know  it  hurts  him;  what  wiU  we 
do  ?"  said  Georgia,  in  a  tone  of  such  intense  motherly 
solicitude  that,  in  spite  of  his  painful  ankle,  Charley  smiled 
faintly.  ^ 

"  1  know  what  I  shall  do,"  said  Richmond,  abruptly. 

» 

"  I  shall  carry  him." 

And  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  the  elder  brother — 

older  only  by  two  or  three  years,  but  much  stronger  and 

more  compactly  built  than  the  somewhat  delicate  Charley — 

lifted  him  in  his  arms  and  proceeded  to  bear  him  up  the 
rocks.  -'..,,_- -^-^  v;-^ -r  ...-:-"  ^-' 

"  Why,  Richmond,  old  feUow,"  remonstrated  Charley, 
**  you'll  kill  yourself — rupture  an  artery,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing,  you  know  ;  and  then  therell  be  a  pretty  to  do 
about  it.  Let  go,  and  FU  walk  it,  in  spite  of  the  ankle.  I 
can  hold  out  as  long  as  it  can,  I  should  hope." 

**  Never  mind,  Charley  ;  I'm  pretty  strong,  and  yoii*rt 
not  a  killiBg  weight,  b«»ing  all  skin  and  bone«  and  bi 


**LAD7  MAOBBTH/* 


but  at 
'spremd 

if  they 
-h— hj 
been 
le  aoh- 

forced 

ed  bis 
stroDg 

ptheriy 
smiled 

raptly. 

ft 

»tber — 
er  and 
irley — 
ap  the 

liarley, 
at  fort 
rtodo 
kle.    I 

yon'rt 


pretty  mneh.  Keep  etill,  and  I  will  bare  yon  ap  ^  a 
twinkling." 

«  Be  it  so,  then,  most  obliging  yonth.  Really,  it's  not 
sncb  a  bad  notion,  this  being  carried — rather  comfortable 
than  otherwise." 

« Now,  don't  kaep  on  so,  Charley,"  said  Georgia,  in  a 
Toice  of  motherly  rebuke.  "  How  is  your  ankle  ?  Does  it 
hart  yon  much  now  ?" 

«  Well,  after  mature  deliberation  on  the  subject,  I  think 
I  may  safely  say  it  does.  It's  aching  just  at  this  present 
writing  as  if  for  a  wager,"  replied  Charley,  with  a  grimace. 

Georgia  glanced  at  Richmond,  and  seeing  great  drops  of 
perspiration  standing  on  his  brow  as  he  toiled  up,  said,  in 
all  sincerity : 

"  See  here,  yon  look  tired  to  death.  Do  let  me  help  yon. 
I'm  atrong,  and  he  ain't  very  heavy  looking,  and  I  guess  I 
can  carry  him  the  rest  of  the  way." 

Richmond  turned  and  looked  at  her  in  surprise,  but 
seeing  she  was  perfectly  serious  in  her  offer,  he  repressed 
his  amusement  and  gravely  declined ;  while  Charley,  less 
delicate,  set  up  an  indecorous  laugh. 

« Carry  me  up  the  hill!  Oh,  that's  good!  What 
would  Curtis,  and  Dorset,  and  all  the  fellows  say  if  they 
heard  that.  Rich  i  'Pon  honor,  that's  the  best  joke  of  the 
season  !  A  little  girl  I  could  lift  with  one  hand  offering  to 
carry  me  up  hill?" 

And  Master  Charley  lay  back  and  laughed  till  the  tears 
stood  in  his  eyes. 

His  laughter  was  brought  to  a  sudden  end  by  an 
unexpected  sight.  Little  Georgia  faced  round,  with  fla^^hing 
eyes  and  glowing  cheeks,  and,  with  a  passionate  stamp  of 
her  foot,  e.TclaioQed  : 


# 


I'' 


n 


""LADT   MACBBTM:' 


''How  dars  yoa  langh  at  me,  yoa  hatefal,  ill-mCkiiiierMl 
feliow  ?  Don't  yoa  ever  dare  to  do  it  again,  or  it  won't  be 
good  for  you  !  If  you  weren't  hurt  now,  and  not  able  to 
take  your  own  part,  I'd  tear  your  eyes  out! — I  just  would  I 
Don't  you  dabe  to  lau$i|li  at  me,  sir  I" 

And  with  another  fierce  stamp  of  her  foo^,  and  wild 
flash  of  her  eyes,  she  turned  away  and  walked  in  the 
direction  of  the  cottage. 

For  a  moment  the  brothers  were  confounded  by  this 
unexpected  and  startling  outburst — this  new  revelation  of 
the  unique  child  before  them.  There  was  in  it  something 
so  different  from  the  customary  pouting  anger  of  a  child 
— something  so  nearly  appalling  in  her  fierce  eyes  and  pas- 
sionate gestures,  that  they  looked  at  each  other  a  moment 
in  astounded  silence  before  attempting  to  reply. 

''Really,  Georgia,  I  did  not  mean  to  offend,"  said 
Charley,  at  last,  as  they  by  t^is  time  reached  the  high-road, 
and  the  exhausted  Richmond  deposited  him  on  his  feet. 
"I  am  very  sorry  I  have  angered  you,  but  I'm  such  a 
fellow  to  laugh,  you  know,  that  the  least  thing  sets  me  off. 
Why  I'd  laugh  at  an  empress,  if  she  did  or  said  anything 
droll.  Come,  forgive  me,  like  a  good  girl  I"  and  Charley, 
looking  deeply  penitent,  held  out  his  hand. 

But  Georgia  was  proud,  and  was  not  one  to  readily  for- 
give what  she  considered  an  nsult,  so  she  drew  herself 
back  and  up,  and  only  replied  by  a  dangerous  flash  of  her 
great  black  eyes. 

"  Come,  Georgia,  don't  be  angiy  ;  let's  make  up  friendf 
again.  Where's  the  good  of  keeping  spite,  especially  when 
a  fellow's  sorry  for  his  fault  ?  One  thing  I  know,  and  that 
is,  if  you  don't  forgive  me  pretty  soon,  I'll  go  and  heave 
myself  away  into  an  untimely  grave,  in  the  flower  of  my 


LADT   AtACBSTHr 


n 


wild 
the 


youth,  and  then  just  think  of  the  remorse  of  conscienoe 
you'll  suffer.     Come,  Georgia,  shake  hands  and  be  friends." 

But  Georgia  faced  round,  with  a  curling  lip,  and  turn- 
ing to  Richmond,  who  all  this  time  had  stood  quietly  by, 
with  folded  arms,  surveying  her  with  an  inexplicable  smile, 
which  faded  away  the  moment  he  met  her  eye,  she  said, 
shortly  : 

**  You  had  better  come  along.  I'll  go  on  ahead  and  tell 
Miss  Jerusha  you're  coming."  And  then,  without  waiting 
for  a  repl j   aae  walked  on  in  proud  silence. 

She  reached  the  cottage  in  a  few  minutes,  and,  throw- 
ing open  the  door  with  her  accustomed  explosive  bang, 
went  up  to  where  Miss  Jerusha  sat  sewing  diligently,  and 
facing  that  lady,  began  : 

"  Miss  Jerusha,  look  here  !" 

Miss  Jerusha  lifted  her  bead,  and,  seeing  Miss  Gkorgia't 
inshed  cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes,  the  evidence  of  one 
of  her  "  tantrums,"  said  : 

"  Well  who  hev  you  bin  a-fightin'  with  nofo,  marm  ?" 

**  I  hava't  been  fighting  with  any  one,"  said  Georgia, 
impatiently,  fo?  a  slight  skirmish  like  this  was  nothing  to 
pitched  battle  she  called  fighting  ;  *'  but  there's  a  boy  that 
has  sprained  h:s  ankle  down  on  the  beach,  and  his  brother's 
bringing  him  here  for  you  to  fix  it." 

Now,  Miss  Jerusha,  though  not  noted  for  her  hospital- 
ity at  any  time,  would  not,  perhaps,  on  an  ordinary  occasion 
make  any  objection  to  this  beyond  a  few  grumbles,  but  oa 
this  particular  morning  everything  lad  gone  wrong,  and 
she  was  in  an  (even  for  her)  unusuady  surly  mood,  so  she 
turned  roLmd  and  sharply  exclaimed  : 

"  And  do  you  suppose,  you  little  good  for-nothing  whip* 
per>snapper,  I  keep  an  'ospital  for  every  shiriess  scamp  in 


t 


fit 


% 


n    .  ''LADY   MACBETET 

the  neighborhood?  If  you  do,  you  are  very  maoh  mis- 
taken, that's  all.  If  he's  sprained  his  ankle,  let  him  go 
aommer's  else,  for  I  vow  to  Sam  he  shaVt  come  here  !'' 

"  He  ihall  come  here  I"  exclaimed  Georgia,  with  one  of 
her  passionate  stamps  :  "  you  see  if  he  sha'n't.  I  told  him  he 
could  come  here,  and  he  shall,  too,  in  spite  of  you  !" 

"  Why,  you  little  impident  hussy  you  !"  said  Miss  Jer- 
usha,  flinging  down  her  work  and  rising  to  her  feet,  <<  how 
dare  you  have  the  imperance  to  stand  up  and  talk  to  me 
like  that  ?  We'll  see  wnether  he'll  come  here  or  not.  You 
invited  him  here,  indeed  !  And  pray  what  right  have  you 
to  invite  anybody  here,  I  want  to  know  ?  You,  a  lazy, 
idle  little  vagabone,  not  worth  your  salt  I  Come  here, 
indeed  !  I  wish  he  may  ;  if  he  doesn't  go  out  faster  than  he 
came  in  it  won't  be  my  fault  1" 

"Just  you  try  to  turn  him  out,  you  cross,  ngly  old 
thing !  If  you  do  I'll— I'll  Ml  you  ;  I'll  set  fire  to  this 
hateful  old  hut,  and  burn  it  down  !  Yoa  see  if  I  don't. 
There !" 

The  savage  gleam  of  her  eyes  at  that  moment,  her  face 
white  with  concentrated  passion,  was  something  horrible 
and  unnatural  in  one  of  her  years.  Miss  Jernsha  drew 
baok  a  step,  and  interposed  a  chair  between  them  in  salu. 
tary  dread  of  the  little  vixen's  daw-like  nails. 

At  that  moment  the  form  of  Richmond  Wildair  ap- 
peared in  the  doorway.  Both  youths  had  arrived  in  time 
to  witness  the  fierce  altercation  between  the  mistress  of 
the  house  and  her  half-savage  little  ward,  and  Richmond 
now  interposed. 

Taking  off  his  hat,  he  bowed  to  Miss  Jemsha  saying  ia 
his  calm,  gentlemanly  tones: 

"  I  beg  your  pardon^  madam,  for  this  intmsion,  bat  my 


3t 


^'LADY   MAOBSTE:* 


brother  being  really  unable  to  walk,  I  beg  you  will  btTO 
the  kindness  to  allow  him  to  remain  here  until  I  can  return 
from  Burufield  with  a  carriage.  You  will  not  be  troubled 
with  him  more  than  au  hour." 

Inhospitable  as  she  was,  Miss  Jerusha  could  not  really 
refuse  this,  so  she  giowled  out  a  churlish  assent ;  and 
Richmond,  secretly  amused  at  the  whole  thing,  helped  in 
Charley,  while  Georgia  set  the  rocking-chair  for  him,  and 
placed  a  stool  under  his  wounded  foot,  without,  however, 
favoring  him  with  a  single  smile,  or  word,  or  glance.  She 
was  in  no  mood  just  then  either  to  forget  or  forgive. 

"  And  now  I'm  off,"  said  Richmond,  after  seeing  Char- 
ley safely  disposed  of.  "  I  will  be  back  in  as  short  a  time 
as  I  possibly  can;  and  meantime.  Miss  Georgia,"  he  added, 
turning  to  her  with  a  smile  as  he  left  the  room,  '<  I  place 
my  brother  under  your  care  until  I  come  back." 

But  Georgia,  with  her  back  to  them  both,  was  looking 
sullenly  out  of  the  window,  and  neither  moved  nor  spoke 
until  Richmond  had  gone,  and  then  she  followed  him  out, 
and  stood  looking  irresolutely  after  him  as  he  walked 
down  the  road. 

He  turned  round,  and  seeing  her  there,  stopped  aa 
though  expecting  she  would  speak ;  but  she  only  played 
nervously  with  the  hop-vines  crowning  the  walls,  without 
lifting  her  voice. 

"  Well,  Georgia  V  he  said  inquiringly. 

"  I— I  <ion^t  waLt  to  stay  here.  I'll  go  with  you  to 
Burnfield,  if  you  like.  Miss  Jerusha's  cross/'  she  said, 
looking  up  half  shyly,  half  defiantly  in  his  face. 

A  strange  expression  flitted  for  an  instant  over  tne 
grave,  thoughtful  face  of  Richmond  Wjldair,  passing  away 


«■ 


II 


i 


74 


^'LADT  MAOBEISL" 


as  quickly  as  it  came.  Without  a  word  he  went  up  to 
where  Georgia  stood,  with  that  same  light  in  her  eyes,  half 
fhy,  half  fierce,  that  one  sees  in  the  eyes  of  a  half -tamed 
and  dangerous  animal  when  under  the  influence  of  • 
master-eye. 

"Georgia,  look  at  me,"  he  said,  laying  one  hand  lightly 
on  her  shoulder. 

She  stepped  back,  shook  off  the  hand,  «nd  looked 
defiantly  up  in  his  face.  It  was  not  exactly  a  handsome 
face,  yet  it  was  full  of  power — full  of  calm,  deep,  invincible 
power — with  keen,  intense,  piercing  eyes,  whose  steady 
gaze  few  could  calmly  stand.  Child  as  she  was,  the 
hitherto  unconquered  Georgia  felt  that  she  stood  in  the 
presence  of  a  strong  will,  that  surmounted  and  overtopped 
her  own  by  its  very  depth,  intensity  and  calmness.  She 
strove  to  brave  out  his  gaze,  but  her  own  eyes  wavered  and 
fell 

'*  Well  ?"  she  said,  in  a  subdued  tone. 

"  Georgia,  will  you  do  me  a  favor  ?" 

"  Well  ?'*'  she  said,  compressing  her  lips  hard,  M  thoagh 
determined  to  do  battle  to  the  death. 

«  My  brother  is  alone,  he  is  in  pain,  he  did  not  mean  to 
offend  you,  he  is  under  your  roof.  Georgia,  I  want  yon  to 
•tay  with  him  till  I  come  back." 

"He  laughed  at  me — he  made  fun  of  me.  I  toon'l/  I 
kate  him  I"  she  said,  with  a  passionate  flush. 

**  lie  is  sorry  for  that.  When  people  are  sorry  for  their 
taalta,  a  magnanimous  enemy  always  forgives." 

*<  I  don't  care.  I  vjon^t  forgive  him.  I  was  doing 
everything  I  could  for  him.  I  would  have  helped  him  up 
hill  if  1  could,  and  he  laughed  at  tnei    I  won't  stay  with 


* 

1 

**LAD7  MACBETH.'* 


m- 


Lim  I"  she  exclaimed,  tearing  the  hop  branehes  off  ftnd 
flingiDg  them  to  the  ground  in  her  excitement. 

He  caught  the  destructive  little  hands  in  his  and  h«UI 
them  fast.  *       ' 

"  Georgia,  you  toiUP^ 

"I  won't/  not  if  I  die  for  it  1"  she  flashed. 

"  Georgia  1" 

"  Let  me  go  1"  she  cried  out,  trying  to  wrench  her 
hands  from  his  grasp.     "  I  never  will  1  Let  me  go  I" 

"  Georgia,  do  you  know  what  hospitality  means  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  he  is  your  guest  now.  Have  you  ever  read 
about  the  Arabs  of  the  desert,  my  proud  little  lady  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  you  know  once  their  most  deadly  enemy  entered 
their  house,  they  treated  him  as  though  he  were  the  dearest 
friend  they  had  in  the  world.  Now,  Georgia,  you  will  be 
a  lady  some  day,  I  think,  and  " 

"  I  will  stay  with  your  brother  till  you  come  back,"  she 
said,  proudly  ;  "  but  I  won^t  be  his  friend — never  again  I 
I  liked  him  then,  and  I  wanted  to  do  everything  I  could  for 
him.  I  would  have  had  my  ankle  sprained  if  it  would  have 
made  his  well.    I  was  so  sorry,  and — he — ^laughed  at  me  1" 

in  spite  of  all  her  evident  effoi  ts  her  lips  quivered,  and 
turning  abruptly,  she  walked  away  and  entered  the  house. 

Richmond  Wildair  stood  for  an  instant  in  the  same 
spot,  looking  after  her,  and  again  that  nameless,  inexplicable 
smile  flitted  over  his  face. 

"  Conquered  I"  he  said,  with  a  sort  of  exultation  in  hia 
Toioe ;  "  and  for  the    first  time  in  her  life,  I  believe. 


II 


)t.1 


p 


96 


**LADT  MACBBTH: 


Strange,  wild  child  ttat  she  is.    I  see  the  genu  •/  %  ftsf 

bat  d^«tcTtflc  vh?  >».  te>  there.''' 

He  wall'-e*  dw  ;•  the  road,  whistling  "  My  love  is  bat  a 
lassie  yet,"  whii.u  Ge  <*  ^ia  re-entered  the  house,  and  with  a 
dark  clond  still  on  her  face,  walked  to  the  window  and 
looked  sullenly  after  the  retreating  figure  of  Richmond. 

Master  Charley,  who  had  a  taste  for  strange  animals, 
had  been  devoting  his  time  to  drawing  out  Miss  Jerusha, 
practicing  all  his  fascinations  on  her  with  a  zeal  and  de- 
termination worthy  of  a  better  cause,  and  at  last  succeeded 
in  wheedling  that  deluded  lady  into  a  recital  of  her  many 
and  peculiar  troubles,  to  11  of  which  he  listened  with  the 
most  sympathizing,  not  to  say  painful  attention,  and  with 
a  look  so  intensely  dismal  that  it  quite  won  the  old  lady's 
heart.  But  when  he  praised  Betsey  Periwinkle,  and  stroked 
her  down,  and  spoke  in  terms  of  enthusiastic  admiration  of 
a  pair  of  moleskin  pantaloons  Miss  Jerusha  was  making, 
bespeaking  another  pair  exactly  like  them  for  himself,  his 
conquest  was  complete,  and  he  took  a  firm  hold  of  Miss 
Jerusha's  unappropriated  affections,  which  from  that  day 
be  never  lost.  And  on  the  strength  of  this  new  and  rash 
attack  of ''  love  at  first  sight,"  Miss  Jerusha  produced  from 
some  mysterious  comer  a  glass  of  currant  wine  and  a  plate 
of  sliced  gingerbread,  which  she  offered  to  her  guest — a 
piece  ot  reckless  extravagance  she  had  never  been  guilty 
of  before,  and  which  surprised  Fly  to  such  a  degree  that 
■he  would  have  there  and  then  taken  out  a  writ  of  lunacy 
against  her  mistress,  had  she  known  anything  whatever 
about  such  a  proceeding.  Master  Charley^  being  blessed 
with  an  excellent  appetite  of  his  o^ui,  which  his  accident 
had  in  no  way  diminished,  graciously  condescended  to 
partake  of  the  offered  dainties,  and  lannchod  out  into  saoh 


''LADJ   MAOBETBT  t 

•nthiisiAc^io  pnises  of  both,  that  the  English   langn*g« 
MCtaally  foandered  and  gave  oat,  in  hit  transportf . 

And  all  this  time  Georgia  had  stood  by  the  window, 
silent  and  sullen,  with  a  clond  on  her  brow,  and  a  bright, 
angry  light  in  her  eyes,  that  warned  both  Miss  Jerushaand 
Charley  Wildair  that  it  was  safer  .  ^et  her  alone  than 
speak  to  her  just  then.  For  thon(  N  t^  girl's  combustible 
nature  was  something  like  a  blaz**  Oi  tow,  burning  fiercely 
for  a  moment  and  then  going  out,  C  .Ki  did  not  readily  for- 
give injuries,  slights,  or  affror  o*  what  she  considered 
such.  No,  she  brooded  over  them  nntil  they  sank  deep 
among  the  many  other  rank  things  that  had  been  allowed 
to  take  root  in  her  heart,  and  which  only  the  spirit  of  true 
religion  could  now  ever  eradicate.        , 

The  child  had  grown  up  from  infancy  neglected,  hei 
high  spirit  unchecked,  her  fierce  outbursts  of  temper  unre 
buked,  allowed  to  have  her  own  way  in  all  things,  ignorant 
of  all  religious  training  whatsoever.  She  had  heard  the 
words,  God,  heaven  and  hell — ^but  they  were  ovdy  words  to 
her,  striking  the  ear,  bat  conveying  no  meaning,  and  she 
had  n€fO€r  bent  her  childish  knee  in  prayer. 

What  wonder  then  that  she  grew  up  as  we  find  her, 
proud,  passionate,  sullen,  obstinate,  and  vindictive  ?  The 
germii  of  a  really  fine  nature  had  been  bom  with  her,  but 
they  Iliad  been  neg^^ted  and  allowed  to  run  to  waste, 
while  every  evil  passion  had  been  fostered  and  nurtured. 

Generous,  frank,  and  truthful  she  was  still,  scorning  a 
lie,  not  because  she  thought  it  a  sin,  but  because  it  seemed 
mM,n  and  cowardly;  high-spirited,  too,  she  would  have 
gone  through  fire  and  fiood  to  serve  any  one  she  loved,  huA^ 
had  that  one  offended  her,  she  would  have  hurled  her  back 
V  >^  the  fire  and  flood  without  remorse. 


78 


^LADY   MACBETH'' 


Ingratitude  was  not  one  of  her  vices  either,  tbongL  from 
her  oonduot  to  Miss  Jerasha  it  would  appear  so ;  bat 
Georgia  could  not  love  the  sharp,  snappish,  thougji  not 
bad-hearted  old  maid,  and  so  she  believed  she  owed  her 
nothing,  a  belief  more  than  one  in  Burnfield  took  care  to 
foster. 

Not  a  vice  that  child  possessed  that  a  careful  hand 
could  not  have  changed  into  a  real  virtue,  for  in  her  sinning 
there  was  at  least  nothing  mean  and  underhand  ;  treachery 
and  deception  she  would  have  scorned  and  stigmatized  as 
cavocurdlyf  for  courage,  daring,  bravery,  was  in  the  eyes  of 
Georgia  the  highest  virtue  in  earth  or  heaven. 

Richmond  Wildair  understood  her,  because  he  possessed 
an  astute  and  powerful  intellect,  and  mastered  her,  because 
he  had  a  loiU  equal  to  her  own,  and  a  mind,  by  education 
and  cultivation,  infinitely  superior. 

Georgia,  almost  unknown  to  herself,  had  a  profound 
admiration  and  respect  for  strength^  whether  bodily  or 
mental ;  and  the  moment  Richmond  Wildair  let  her  see  he 
oould  conquer  her,  that  moment  he  achieved  a  command 
over  the  wild  girl  he  never  lost. 

Yet  it  galled  her,  this  first  link  in  the  chain  that  was 
one  day  to  bind  her  hand  and  foot ;  and,  like  an  unbroken 
colt  on  whom  the  bridle  and  curb  are  put  for  the  first  time, 
she  grew  restive  and  angry  under  the  'ntolerable  yoke. 

"  What  right  has  he  to  make  me  stay  ?  she  thought, 
with  a  still  darkening  brow.  "  What  business  has  he  to 
order  me  to  do  this  or  that  ?  Telling  me  to  stay  with  his 
brother,  as  if  he  was  my  master  and  I  wat»  h<s  servant !  I 
don't  see  why  I  did  it ;  he  had  no  bttsinesa  to  tell  me  so. 
I  have  a  good  mind  to  run  away  yet,  and  when  he  comei 
he'll  And  me  gone — but  no,  I  promised  to  stay,  and  I  will. 


**  LAD7   MAOBETn."* 


Tt 


I  wonldn't  have  stayed  for  anybody  else,  and  I  don't 
why  I  did  for  him.  I  won't  do  it  again — I  never  will ;  the 
very  next  thing  he  asks  me  to  do  I'll  say  no,  and  I'll  itick 
to  it.     I  won't  be  ordered  about  by  anybody  I" 

And  Georgia  raised  her  head  proudly,  and  her  eye  flash- 
ed, and  her  cheek  kindled,  and  her  little  brown  hand 
clenched,  as  her  whole  untamed  nature  rose  in  revolt 
against  the  idea  of  servitude.  Some  wild  Indian  or  gipsy 
blood  must  have  been  in  Georgia's  veins,  for  never  did  a 
lord  of  forest  rock  or  river  resolve  to  do  battle  to  maintain 
his  freedom  with  more  fierce  determination  than  did  she  at 
that  moment. 

Her  resolution  was  soon  put  to  the  test.  Ere  another 
hour  had  passed  Richmond  Wildair  returned  with  a  light 
gig,  and  entered  the  house. 

Georgia  saw  him  enter,  but  would  not  turn  round,  and 
Charley,  getting  up,  bade  Miss  Jerusha  a  gay  good-by, 
promising  to  come  and  see  her  again  the  first  thing  after  his 
ankle  got  well.  Then,  going  over  to  Georgia,  he  held  out 
his  hand,  saying : 

"Come,  Georgia,  I  am  going  away.  Do  bid  me 
good-by." 

It  was  hardly  in  human  nature  to  resist  that  coaxing 
tone ;  so  a  curt  "  good-by "  dropped  out  Irom  between 
Georgia's  closed  teeth;  but  she  would  neither  look  at  him 
nor  notice  his  extended  hand. 

And  with  this  leave-taking  Charley  was  forced  to  be 
content ;  and,  leaning  on  Richmond,  be  went  ont  and  took 
his  place  in  the  gig. 

Then  Richmond  returned,  and  bowing  his  farewell  and 
his  thanks  to  Miss  Jerusha,  slightly  surprised  at  the  moili* 


V' 


!  I 


'A 


\h 


■■!i 


'H 


I 


II  **LA3T   MACBETH" 

fying  metamorphosis  that  ancient  lady  had  undergone,  he 
went  np  to  Georgia,  saying,  in  a  low  tone  : 

«  Come  with  me  to  the  door,  Georgia;  I  have  eomething 
to  say  to  yon." 

"  Say  it  here." 

He  hesitated,  hut  Georgia  looked  as  immovable  as  a 
rook. 

''  Well,  then,  Georgia,  I  want  you  to  forgive  my  brother 
before  he  goes." 

Georgia  planted  her  feet  firmly  together,  compressed 
her  lips,  and,  without  lifting  her  eyes  to  his  face,  said,  in  a 
low,  res<>lute  tone: 

"  Richmond  Wildair,  I  won't  I" 

''  But,  Georgia,  he  is  sorry  for  his  fault;  he  has  apolo- 
gized; you  ougJU  to  forgive  him." 

"I  won'tl" 

"  Georgia,  it  is  wrong,  it  is  unnatural  in  a  little  girl  to 
be  wicked  and  vindictive  like  this.  If  yoa  were  a  good 
child,  you  would  shake  hands  and  be  friends." 

"  I  won't !" 

**  Georgia,  for  my  sake — ^ 

**  Obstinate,  flinty  little  thing !  Do  you  like  me,  Ghor* 
giar 

"Nor 

"You  don't?  Why,  Georgia,  what  a  shame!  You 
don't  like  me  T 

<*  No,  I  don't  I  I  hate  you  botn  I  You  have  no  bnsi- 
aess  to  tease  me  this  way  I  I  won't  forgive  him — I  never 
will  1    I'll  never  do  anything  for  you  again  !" 

And,  with  a  fierce  flash  of  the  eyes  that  reminded  him 


•"LADT    MAOBETK"* 


Too 


of  a  panther  he  had  once  shot,  she  broke  from  his  retaining 
grasp  and  fled  out  of  the  house. 

He  was  foiled.  He  turned  away  with  a  slight  smile, 
yet  there  was  a  scarcely  perceptible  shade  of  annoyance  on 
his  high,  serene  brow,  as  he  took  his  place  beside  his  broth- 
er and  drove  off. 

"  What  took  you  back,  Rich  ?"  asked  Charley. 

'*  I  wanted  to  bid  good-by  to  that  unique  little  specimen 
of  girlhood  in  there,  and  get  her  to  pardon  you.'* 

"  And  she  would  not  ?" 

"No." 

"  Whew  I  resisted  your  all-powerful  will  I  The  godt 
be  praised  that  you  have  found  your  match  at  last  I*' 

Richmond's  brow  slightly  contracted,  and  he  gave  the 
horse  a  quick  cut  with  the  whip  that  sent  him  flying  on. 

*^  And  yet  I  will  make  her  do  it,"  he  said,  with  his 
oalm,  peculiar,  inexplicable  smile. 

♦*  Eh  ?— you  will  ?    And  how,  may  I  ask  ?" 

«  Never  you  mind — she  shall  do  it !  I  have  conquered 
her  once  already,  and  I  shall  do  it  again,  although  she  has 
refused  this  time.  I  did  not  expect  her  to  yield  without  a 
struggle." 

"  By  Jove  !  there's  some  wild  blood  in  that  one.  There 
was  mischief  in  her  eyes  as  she  turned  on  me  thaT<«  on  the 
hilL  I  shall  take  care  to  give  her  a  wide  berth,  M:dL  let  her 
severely  alone  for  the  future." 

^*  Yes,  she  is  an  original — all  steel  Hprings — a  flne  nature 
if  properly  trained,"  said  Richmond,  musingly. 

"  A  flne  fiddlestick  t"  said  Charley,  contemptuously  ; 
**  she's  as  sharp  as  a  persimmon,  and  as  sour  as  an  unripe 
erab-apple,  aad  as  full  of  stings  as  a  whole  foteat  of  nettle* 


«< 


LADY    MACBSTff." 


**  Do  yon  Ijiow,  Charles,  I  fancy  Lad;  Macbeth  might 
have  been  just  such  a  child  ?" 

"  Shouldn't  wonder.  The  little  black-eyed  gipsy  is 
fierce  enough  in  all  conscience  to  make  a  whole  batch  of 
Lady  Macbeths.  May  all  the  powers  that  be  generously 
grant  I  may  not  be  the  Duncan  she  is  to  send  to  the  other 
world." 

"  If  she  is  allowed  to  grow  up  as  she  is  new,  she  will 
certainly  be  some  day  capable  of  even  Lady  Macbeth's 
crime.  Pity  she  has  no  one  better  qaalified  to  look  after 
her  than  that  disagreeable  old  woman." 

«  Belter  mind  how  you  talk  about  the  old  lady,"  said 
Charley  ;  "  she  and  I  are  as  thick  as  pickpockets.  I  flat- 
tered her  beautifully,  I  flatter  myself,  and  she  believes  in 
me  to  an  immense  extent.  As  to  the  young  lady,  what  do 
you  say  to  adopting  her  yourself?  You'd  be  a  sweet 
mentor  for  youth,  wouldn't  you  ?" 

"  Ton  may  laugh,  but  I  really  feel  a  deep  interest  in 
that  child,"  said  Richmond. 

"Well,  for  my  part,"  said  Charley,  "I  don't  believe  in 
vixens,  young  or  old,  but  you — you  always  had  a  taste  for 
monsters." 

'*  Not  exactly,"  said  Richmond,  untying  a  knot  in  hit 
whip ;  "  but  she  is  something  new  ;  she  suits  me  ;  I  like 


TAMING    AN  EAGLET. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

TAMIirO  AN  XAGLXT. 

**In  her  heart 
An  sown  the  sparks  that  kindle  fiery  war  ; 
Ooeadon  needs  but  fan  them  and  they  blaze.** 

Cownuk 
**  Mind's  command  o'er  mind, 
Spirits  o'er  spirit,  is  the  clear  effect 
Ajid  natural  action  of  an  inward  gift 
Given  by  God." 


|LL  that  day  little  Georgia  went  wandering  aim- 
lessly, restlessly,  through  the  woods,  possessed 
by  some  walking  spirit  that  would  not  let  her 
sit  still  for  an  instant.  She  had  kept  her  vow  ; 
she  had  resisted  the  power  of  a  master  mind ;  she  had 
maintained  her  free  will,  and  refused  to  do  as  he  com- 
manded her.  Yes,  she  felt  it  as  a  command.  She  had 
thrown  off  the  yoke  he  would  have  laid  on  her,  and  she 
ought  to  have  exulte'd  in  her  triumph — in  her  victory. 
But,  strange  to  say,  it  surprised  even  herself  that  she  had 
not;  she  felt  angry,  sullen  and  dissatisfied,  a  he  con- 
sciousness that  she  was  wrong  and  he  was  right — that  she 
ought  to  have  done  &«  he  told  her — would  force  itself  upon 
her  in  spite  of  her  efforts.  How  mean  and  narrow  her 
own  conduct  did  lock  now  that  she  came  to  think  it  over, 
and  the  fever  of  passion  had  passed  away ;  had  she  been 
brave  and  generous  she  felt  she  would  have  forgiven  him 
when  he  so  often  apologized  ;  it  was  galling  to  be  laughed 
at,  it  was  true,  bat  when  he  was  sorry  for  his  fault  she 


TAMING    AN  EAGLET, 


is  : 


' .    1^ 


R  r 


It  • 


'M 


knew  she  ought  to  have  pardoned  him.  How  they  both 
mast  despise  her ;  what  a  wicked,  ngly,  disagreeable  littl« 
girl  they  mast  think  her.  How  she  wisned  she  had  been 
better,  and  had  made  up  friends,  and  not  let  them  go  away 
thinking  her  so  cross  and  sullen  and  obstinate. 

"Miss  Jerusha  says  I'm  ugly  and  good  f^r  nothing  and 
bad-tempered,  and  so  does  every  body  else.  Nobody  loves 
me  or  cares  for  me,  and  every  body  says  I've  got  the  worst 
temper  they  ever  knew.  People  don't  do  anything  but 
laugh  at  me  and  make  fun  of  me  and  call  me  names.  Mam- 
ma and  Warren  liked  me,  but  they're  dead,  and  I  wish  I  was 
dead  and  buried,  too— I  do  so  !  I'll  never  dance  again  ; 
I'll  never  sing  for  anyone ;  I'll  go  away  somewhere,  and 
never  come  back.  I  wish  I  was  pretty  and  good-tempered 
and  pleasant,  like  Em  Murray  :  every  body  loved  her  ;  but 
I  ain't,  and  never  will  be.  I'm  black  and  ugly  and  bad- 
tempered,  and  every  one  hates  me.  Let  them  hate  me,  then 
— I  don't  care  !  I  hate  them  just  as  much  ;  and  I'll  be  lust 
as  cross  and  ngly  as  ever  I  like.  I  was  made  so,  and  a 
can't  help  it,  and  I  don't  care  for  any  body.  I'll  do  just  ai 
I  like,  I  will  so  I  I  can  hate  people  as  much  as  they  can 
hate  me,  and  I  will  do  it,  too.  I  don't  see  what  I  was  ever 
bom  for  ;  Miss  Jerusha  oays  it  was  to  torment  people  :  but 
I  oonldn't  help  it,  and  it  ain't  my  fault,  and  they  have  no 
business  to  blame  me  for  it.  Emily  Murray  says  God 
makes  people  die,  and  I  don't  see  why  he  didn't  let  me  die, 
too,  when  mamma  did.  Mamma  was  good,  and  I  expect 
she's  in  heaven,  but  I'm  so  bad  they'll  never  let  me  there  I 
know !  I  don't  care  for  that  either.  I  was  made  bad,  and 
if  they  send  me  to  the  bad  place  for  it,  they  may.  TSaa 
Murray'!!  go  to  Heaven,  because  ihe's  good  and  pretty,  and 
Miu  Jerasha  says  9MU  go,  but  I  don't  believe  it.    If  «he 


TAMING    AN    EAQLST, 


does,  /sha  Vt  go  even  if  they  ask  me  to,  for  I  know  shell  soold 
all  the  time  up  there  just  as  she  does  down  here.  If  they 
do  let  her  in,  I  guess  they'll  be  pretty  sorry  for  it  after,  and 
wish  they  hadn't.  I  'pose  them  two  young  gentlemen  from 
New  York  will  go,  too,  and  I  know  that  Charley  fellow 
will  laugh  when  he  sees  me  turned  off,  just  as  he  did  this 
morning.  I  don't  believe  I  ought  to  have  made  up  with 
him,  after  all.  I  won't  either,  if  his  brother  says  I  mtut. 
If  he  lets  me  alone  I  may,  but  I'll  never  offer  to  do  anything 
for  him  again  as  long  as  I  live.  Oh,  dear  I  I  don't  see  what 
I  ever  was  born  for  at  all,  and  I  do  wish  I  never  had  been, 
or  that  I  had  died  with  mamma  and  Warren." 

And  so,  with  bitterness  in  her  heart,  the  child  wandered 
on  and  on  restlessly,  as  if  to  escape  from  herself,  with  i 
sense  of  wrong,  and  neglect,  and  injustice  forcing  itself 
upon  her  childish  uncultivated  mind.  She  thought  of  all 
the  hard  names  and  opprobrious  epithets  Miss  Jemsha 
called  her,  and  "  unjust  I  unjust  1"  was  the  cry  of  her  heart 
as  %he  wandered  on.  She  felt  that  in  all  the  world  ther« 
was  not  such  a  wicked,  unloved  child  as  she,  and  the  nn* 
tutored  heart  resolved  in  its  bitterness  to  repay  scorn  with 
scorn,  and  hate  with  hate. 

It  was  dark  when  she  came  home.  She  had  had  no 
dinner,  but  with  the  conflict  going  on  within  she  had  felt 
no  hunger.  Miss  Jerusha's  supper  was  over  and  long  since 
cleared  away,  and,  as  might  be  expected,  she  was  in  no 
very  sweet  frame  of  mind  at  the  long  absence  of  her 
protegee, 

"  Well,  you've  got  home  at  last,  have  yon  V*  she  begaa 
sharply,  and  with  her  voice  pitched  in  a  most  aggravating 
key.  "  Pretty  time  o'  night  this,  I  must  say,  to  come 
home^  after  trampin'  round  like  a  vagabona  on  the  f ao«  o' 


TAMINQ    AN   EAOLBT. 


i' 


the  airth  all  the  whole  blessed  day.  Ton  desarye  to  b« 
switched  as  long  as  you  can  stand,  you  wor.hless,  lazy,  idle 
young  varmint  you  I  Be  off  to  the  kitobeUj  and  see  if  F*ly 
can't  get  you  some  supper,  though  you  oughtn't  to  get  a 
morsel  if  you  were  rightly  sarved.  Other  folks  has  to  toil 
for  what  they  eat,  but  you  live  on  other  folks*  vittals,  and 
do  nothing,  you  indolent  little  tramper  you  I'* 

Miss  Jerusha  paused  for  want  of  breath,  expecting  the 
angry  retort  this  style  of  address  never  failed  to  extort 
from  the  excitable  little  bomb-shell  before  her,  but  to  her 
surprise  none  came.  The  child  stood  with  compressed  lips, 
dark  and  gloomy,  gazing  into  the  fading  fire. 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  go  ?"  said  Miss  Jerusha  angrily. 
"  You  ought  to  take  your  betters'  leavin's  and  be  thankful, 
though  there's  no  such  thing  as  thankfulness  in  you,  I  do 
believe.     Go  I" 

"  I  don't  want  your  supper ;  you  may  keep  it,"  said 
Georgia,  with  proud  sullenness. 

"  Oh,  you  don't !  Of  course  not  I  it's  not  good  enough 
for  your  ladyship,  by  no  manner  of  means,"  said  Mis8 
Jerusha,  with  withering  sarcasm.  "  Hadn't  I  better  ordei 
some  cake  and  wine  for  your  worship  ?  Dear,  dear  !  what 
la<!ie«  we  are,  to  be  sure  1  Is  there  anything  particularly 
aiort  I  oould  get  for  you,  marm,  eh  ?  P'raps  Fly'd  bettei 
3-?ir*  Id  B'jrnfield  for  some  plum  puddin'  or  suihin',  hey  ? 
Oh,  iear  ia3,  ain't  we  dainty,  though," 

Georgia  actually  gnashed  her  teeth,  and  turned  livid 
witb  p'*o8i  -'  as  she  listened,  and,  with  a  spring,  she  stood 
mijCH  the  startled  Miss  Jerusha,  her  ayes  glaring  in  th« 
partial  darkness  like  those  of  a  wild-cat.  Miss  Jerusha,  in 
alarm,  lifted  a  chair  as  a  weapon  of  defense  against  the 
expected  attack  ;  but  the  attack  was  not  made. 


TAMING    AN  BAGLET. 


m 


Clasping  her  bauds  over  her  head  with  a  sort,  of  irre* 
pressiblo  cry,  she  fled  from  the  room,  up  the  stairs  into  her 
own  little  chamber,  fastened  the  door,  and  then  sank  dowD^ 
white  and  quivering,  on  the  floor  of  the  room. 

How  long  she  lay  there  she  could  not  tell  ;  gusts  of  pas- 
sion swept  through  hor  soul.  Wild,  fierce,  and  maddening 
raged  the  conflict  within — one  of  those  delirious  stormu 
of  the  heart — known  and  felt  only  by  those  whose  fiery, 
tropical  veins  seem  to  run  fire  instead  of  blood. 

She  heard  Miss  Jcrusha's  btep  on  the  stairs,  heard  her 
approach  her  door  and  listen  for  a  moment,  and  then  go  to 
her  own  chamber  and  securely  lock  the  door. 

In  that  moment  the  half  crazed  child  hated  her  ;  hated 
all  the  world  ;  feeling  as  though  she  could  have  killed  her 
were  it  in  her  power.  Then  this  unnatural  mood  pa-jfied 
ftway — it  was  too  unnatural  to  last — and  she  rose  Trom 
the  floor,  looking  like  a  spirit,  with  her  streaming  hair, 
wild  eyes,  and  white  face.  She  nt  to  the  window  and 
opened  it,  for  her  head  throbb<  and  ached,  and  leaning 
her  forehead  against  the  cool  gla    ,  she  looked  out. 

How  still  and  serene  everyt  ng  was  I  The  river  lay 
bright  and  beautiful  in  the  (  afjc  bright  starlight.  The 
pine  trees  waved  dreamily  in  the  soft  spring  breeze,  and 
the  odor  of  their  fragrant  leavet^  came  borne  'o  where  she 
sat.  The  silence  of  the  grave  reigned  around,  the  lone- 
some forest  seemed  lonelier  than  ever  to-night,  A,ndi  so  deep 
was  the  stillness  that  the  plaintive  viry  of  the  wnip-poor-will 
as  it  rose  at  intervals,  sounded  startiingly  lojd  and  shrill. 
She  lifted  her  eyes  to  the  high  bright,  solemn  stars  that 
seemed  looking  down  pityingly  upon  the  poor  little  orphan 
child,  and  all  her  wickedness  and  passion  passed  away,  and 
a  mysterious  awe,  deep  and  holy,  entered  that  tempest- 


'^^1 


88  TAMING    AN  BA&LMT, 

tossed  young  heart.  The  soft,  cool  breeze  lifted  her  dark 
elf  looks,  and  lingered  and  cooled  her  hot  brow  like  a 
friend's  kiss.  Georgia  had  often  looked  at  the  stars  before, 
but  they  never  seemed  to  have  such  high  and  holy  beauty 
as  they  possessed  to-night. 

"  God  made  the  stars,"  thought  Georgia  ;  '<  I  wonder 
what  He  made  tbem  for  ?  Perhaps  they  are  the  eyes  of 
the  people  that  die  and  go  to  heaven.  I  wonder  if  mamma 
and  Warren  are  up  there,  and  know  how  bad  I  am,  and  how 
wicked  ^nd  miserable  I  feel  ?  I  guess  they  would  be  sorry 
for  me  if  they  did,  for  there  is  nobody  in  the  world  to  like 
me  now.  8ome  people  pray  ;  Emily  Murray  does,  for  Fve 
seen  her ;  but  I  doa't  know  how,  and  I  don't  think  God 
would  listen  to  me  if  I  did,  I'm  so  dreadful  bad.  She 
taught  me  a  pretty  hymn  to  sing  ;  it  sounds  like  a  prayer; 
but  Fve  forgos.  it  all  but  the  first  verse.  Fll  say  that  any- 
way.    Let's  see — oh,  yes  1  I  know  two." 

And,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  knelt  down  and 
clasped  her  hands,  and  in  the  light  of  the  beautif  al  Bolemn 
stars,  she  softly  whispered  her  first  prayer. 


II 


Oh,  Mary,  my  mother,  most  lovely,  most  mild, 

Look  down  upon  me,  your  poor,  weak,  lonely  child  ; 

From  the  land  of  my  exile,  I  call  u;>on  thee, 

Then  Mary,  my  mother,  look  kindly  on  me. 

In  sorrow  and  darkness,  be  still  at  my  side. 

My  light  and  my  refuge,  my  guard  and  my  guide. 

Though  snares  should  surround  me,  yet  why  should  I  ftar  I 

I  know  I  am  weak,  but  my  mother  is  near. 

Then  Mary,  my  mother,  look  down  upon  me, 

'Tis  the  voice  of  thy  child  that  is  calling  to  thee** 


G^rgia's  voiae  died  away,  yet  with  her  hands  still 
dlasped  and  her  dark  mystic  eyes  now  uptirned  to  tbo  far- 


lAMIJVQ    Ay    HAOLXT. 


■tiQ 


off  stars,  her  thoughts  went  wanderiug  on  the  sweet  words 
she  had  said. 

**  *  Mary,  my  mother  !'  I  wonder  who  that  means  My 
mamma's  name  was  not  Mary,  and  one  can't  have  two 
motbeis,  I  should  think.  How  good  it  sounds,  too !  I 
must  ask  Emily  what  it  means  ;  she  knows.  Oh,  I  wish — 
I  do  wiijh  I  was  up  there  where  all  the  beautiful  stars  are  !" 

Poor  little  Georgia !  untaught,  passionate  child !  how 
many  years  will  come  and  go,  what  a  fiery  furnace  thou  art 
destined  to  pass  through  before  that  "peace  which  passeth 
all  understanding"  will  entei  v  :ur  anguished,  world-weary 
heart  I 

When  breakfast  was  over  next  morning,  Georgia  took 
hei  sun-bonnet  and  set  off  for  Burnfield.  She  hardly  knew 
herself  what  was  her  object  in  passing  so  quickly  through 
the  village,  without  stopping  at  any  of  her  favorite  haubts, 
until  she  stood  before  the  large,  handsome  mansion  occa- 
pied  and  owned  by  the  one  great  man  of  Burnfield,  Squire 
Richmond. 

The  house  was  an  imposing  structure  of  brown  stone, 
with  arched  porticoes,  and  vine-wreathed  balconies.  The 
grounds  were  extensive,  and  beautifully  laid  out ;  and 
Georgia,  with  the  other  children,  had  often  peeped  long- 
ingly over  the  high  fence  encircling  the  front  garden,  at 
the  beautiful  flowers  within. 

Georgia,  skilled  in  climbing,  could  easily  have  got  over 
mnd  reached  them,  but  her  innate  sense  of  honor  would  not 
permit  her  to  steal.  There  was  something  mean  in  the 
idea  of  being  a  thief  or  a  liar,  and  meanness  was  the  black- 
eit  crime  in  her  "  table  of  sins."  Perhaps  another  reason 
was,  Georgia  did  not  care  much  for  flowers  ;  she  liked  well 
enough  to  see  them  growing,  but  as  for  culling  a  bouquet 


•0 


TAMINO    AN   EAGLET. 


I 


If 

.Mi 


1    I 


mi 


for  any  pleasure  it  could  afford  her,  she  would  never  nart 
thought  of  doing  it.  While  she  stood  gazing  wistfully  at 
the  forhidden  garden  of  Eden,  a  sweet  silvery  voice  close 
behind  her  arrested  her  attentioL  with  the  exclamation  : 

"  Why,  Georgia,  is  this  really  you  ?" 

Georgia  turned  round  and  saw  a  little  girl  about  her 
own  age,  but,  to  a  superficial  eye,  a  hundred  times  prettier 
and  more  interesting.  Her  form  was  plump  and  rounded, 
her  complexion  snowy  white,  with  the  brightest  of  rosy 
blooms  on  her  cheek  and  lip  ;  her  eyes  were  large,  bright 
and  blue,  and  her  pale  golden  hair  clustered  in  natural  curls 
on  her  ivory  neck.  A  sweet  face  it  was — a  happy,  inno- 
cent, child-like  face — with  nothing  remarkable  about  it 
save  .'ts  prettiness  and  goodness. 

"  Oh,  Em  !  I*m  glad  you've  come,''  said  Georgia,  her 
dark  eyes  lighting  up  with  pleasure.  "  I  was  just  wishing 
you  would.     Here,  stand  up  here  beside  me." 

**  Well,  I  can't  stay  long,"  said  the  little  one,  getting  up 
beside  Georgia.  "  Mother  sent  me  with  some  things  to 
that  poor  Mrs.  White,  whose  husband  got  killed,  you  know. 
Oh,  Georgia  !  she's  got  just  the  dearest  little  baby  you  ever 
saw,  with  such  tiny  bits  of  fingers  and  toes,  and  the  fun- 
niest little  blinking  eyes  !  The  greatest  little  darling  ever 
was  !     Do  come  down  with  me  to  see  it ;  it's  splendid  !" 

exclaimed  Emily,  her  pretty  little  face  all  aglow  with 
enthusiasm. 

"No  ;  I  don't  c^re  about  going,"  said  Georgia,  coolly. 
"  I  don^t  like  babie 

"Dor't  like  OP  ! — the  dearest  little  things  in  the 
world  !     Oh,  Geor^.a  !"  cried  Emily,  reproachfully. 

"  Well,  I  '^lon't,  then  1  I  don't  see  anything  nice  about 
them,  for  mv  part,    ^gly  little  things,  with  thin  faces  aU 


% 


TAMING    AN  EAGLET. 


fl 


wrinkled  up,  like  Miss  Jerusba's  hands  on  wash  day,  crying 
and  making  a  time.  I  don't  like  them  ;  and  I  lon't  Me 
how  you  can  be  bothered  nursing  them  the  way  you  do." 

"  Oh,  I  love  them  I  and  I'm  going  to  save  all  the  mcncy 
I  get  to  spend,  to  buy  Mrs.  White's  little  baby  a  dress. 
Mother  says  I  may.  Ain't  these  flowers  lovely  in  there  f 
I  wish  we  had  a  garden." 

"Why?" 

**  Oh,  beoanse  it's  so  nice  to  have  flowers.  I  wonder 
Squire  Richmond  never  pulls  any  of  his  ;  he  always  leaves 
them  there  till  they  drop  off." 

«  Well,  what  would  he  pull  them  for?" 

"  Why,  to  put  on  the  table,  of  course.  Don't  you  ever 
gather  flowers  for  your  room  ?" 

"No." 

"  You  don't  1     Why,  Georgia  !  don't  you  love  flowers?" 

**  No,  I  don't  love  them  ;  I  like  to  see  them  well 
enough." 

"  Why,  Georgia  !  Oh,  Georgia,  what  a  funny  girl  you 
are  1    Net  love  flowers  I     What  do  you  love,  then  ?" 

"  I  love  the  starry — the  beautiful  stars,  so  high,  and 
bright,  and  splendid  !" 

•'  Oh,  so  do  I  ;  but  then  they're  so  far  off,  you  know, 
I  love  flowers  better,  because  thev're  nearer." 

"  Well,  that's  the  reason  I  donH  like  them — I  mean  not 
so  much.  I  don't  care  for  things  I  can  get  so  easy — that 
everybody  else  can  get.  Anything  I  like  I  want  to  have 
all  to  myself.  I  don't  want  anybody  else  in  the  world  to 
have  it.  The  bright,  bemtiful  stars  are  away  off — nobody 
can  have  them  I  call  them  mine,  and  nobody  can  take 
them  from  me.     I  like  stars  better  than  flowers." 

"  Oh,  Georgia  1  you  are  queer.     Why,  doVt  you  know 


TAMING    AN   BAOLBT. 


that's  selfish  ?  Now,  it  I  have  any  pleasure,  I  don't  enjoy 
it  at  all  nnless  I  have  somebody  to  enjoy  it  with.  I  shouldn't 
like  to  keep  all  to  myself ;  it  doesn't  seem  right.  What 
else  do  you  like,  Georgia  ?" 

"  Well,  I  like  the  sea — the  great,  grand,  dreadful  sea  ! 
I  like  it  when  the  waves  rise  and  dash  their  heads  against 
the  high  rocks,  and  roar,  and  shriek,  and  rage  as  if  some- 
thing had  made  them  wild  with  anger.  Oh  I  I  love  to 
watch  it  then,  when  the  great  white  waves  break  so  fiercely 
over  the  high  rocks,  and  dash  up  the  spray  in  my  face.  I 
know  it  feels  then  as  I  do  sometimes,  just  as  if  it  should  go 
mad  and  dash  its  brains  out  on  the  rocks.  Oh,  I  do  love 
the  great,  stormy,  angry  sea  I" 

And  the  eyes  of  the  wild  girl  blazed  up,  and  her  whole 
dark  face  lighted,  kindled,  grew  radiant  as  she  spoke. 

The  sweet,  innocent  little  face  of  Emily  was  lifted  in 
wonder  and  a  sort  of  dismay. 

*'  Oh,  Georgia,  how  you  talk  !"  she  exclaimed  :  **  love 
the  sea  in  a  storm  !  What  a  taste  you  have  I  Now  I  like  it, 
too,  but  only  on  a  sunny,  calm  morning  like  this,  when  it 
is  smooth  and  shining.  I  am  dreadfully  afraid  of  it  on  a 
stormy  day,  when  the  great  waves  make  such  a  horrid  noise. 
What  queer  things  you  like  I  Now  I  suppose  you  had 
rather  have  a  wet  day  like  last  Sunday  than  one  like  this  ?" 

**  No,"  said  Georgia,  '*  I  didn't  like  last  Sunday  ;  it  kept 
on  a  miserable  drizzle,  drizzle  all  day,  and  wouldn't  be  fine 
nor  rain  right  down  good  and  have  done  with  it.  But  I 
like  a  storm,  a  fierce,  high  storm,  when  the  wind  blows  fit 
to  tear  the  trees  up,  and  dashes  the  rain  like  mad  against 
the  windows.  I  go  away  up  to  the  garret  then  and  listen. 
And  I  like  it  when  it  thunders  and  lightens,  and  frightens 
everybody  into  fits.    Oh,  it's  splendid  then  I    I  feel  as  if  I 


■t^ 


m 


I 


■:i 


TAMING    AN  BAG  LET 


t  enjoy 
oaldn't 
What 

al  sea  1 
agftinti 
f  Bome- 
love  to 
fiercely 
ace.  I 
ould  go 
do  love 

r  whole 

e. 

if  ted  Id 

;  "  love 
I  like  it, 
when  it 
'  it  on  a 
id  noise, 
^ou  had 
e  this  ?'» 
;  it  kept 
t  be  fine 
.  But  I 
blows  fit 
against 
id  listen, 
righteni 
el  as  if  I 


would  like  to  fly  away  and  away  all  over  the  woild,  u  if  I 
should  go  wild  being  caged  up  in  one  place,  as  if— oh,  ] 
can't  tell  you  how  I  feel  !*'  said  the  hare-brained  girl^ 
drawing  a  long  breath  and  keeping  her  shining  eyes  fixed 
as  if  on  some  far-off  vision. 

"  Well,  if  you  ain*t  the  queerest,  wildest  thing  1  And 
you  don't  like  fine  days  at  all  ?** 

'*  Oh,  yes,  I  do~-of  course  I  do  ;  not  so  muoh  days  like 
^his,  cold,  and  dear,  and  calm,  but  blazing  hot,  scorching 
August  noondays,  when  the  whole  world  looks  like  one 
great  flood  of  golden  fire— fAa£*«  the  sort  I  like  I  Or 
freezing,  wild,  frosty  winter  days,  when  the  great  blasts 
make  one  fly  along  as  if  they  had  wings — they^re  splendid, 
too  1" 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,  I  don't  think  so.  I  like  cool, 
pleasant  days  like  this  better,  because  I  have  no  taste  for 
roasting  or  freezing,"  said  Emily,  laughing.  «  Oh,  I  must 
tell  mother  about  the  droll  things  yoo  like  !  Let  me  see 
what  else.    Like  music  ?" 

**  Some  sorts.  I  like  the  band.  Don't  oaro  mnoh  for 
any  other  kind."  ' 

"  And  I  like  songs  and  hymns  better.  And  now,  which 
do  you  prefer — ^men  or  women  V* 

<' Men,"  said  Georgia,  decidedly. 

"You  do!    Why?" 

"Oh,  well — because  they're  stronger  and  more  powerfal, 
and  braver  and  bolder  ;  women  are  such  cowards.  Do  yon 
know  the  sort  of  a  man  I  should  like  to  be  ?" 

"No;  what  sort?" 

"Well,  like  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  or  Alexander  th« 
Great.    I  should  like  to  conquer  the  whole  world  and  make 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT.3) 


1.0 


I.I 


I^|2j8     125 

150     ^^" 


Its 


2.2 


I 


L£    12.0 


1.8 


11.25  III]  1.4 


m 


^ 


^ 


.%>  >  .^^1 


'/ 


HiotDgraphic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  US80 

(716)873-4503 


^ 


94 


TAMINQ    AN   EAGLET. 


every  one  in  the  world  do  just  as  I  told  them.  Oh,  I  widi 
I  was  a  boy  I" 

"  I  don't,  then,"  said  Emily,  stoutly.  "  I  don't  like  boys, 
they're  so  rude  and  rough.  And  these  two  conquerors 
weren't  good  men  either.  Tve  read  about  them.  Wash- 
ington was  good.     I  like  him," 

"  So  do  I.  But  if  I  had  been  him  I  would  have  made 
myself  King  of  America.  I  wouldn't  have  done  as  he  did 
at  all.    Now,  where  are  you  going  in  such  a  hurry  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  shall  have  to  go  to  Mrs.  White's.  I've  been 
here  a  good  while  already.     I  wish  you  would  come  along." 

"  No,"  said  Georgia  decidedly,  "  I  sha'n't  go.  Good- 
by." 

Emily  nodded  and  smiled  a  good-by,  and  tripped  oft 
down  the  road.  Georgia  stood  for  a  moment  longer,  look- 
ing at  the  stately  mansion,  and  then  was  about  to  go  away 
when  a  hand  was  laid  on  her  and  arrested  her  steps. 

Close  to  the  wall  some  benches  ran,  hidden  under  a 
profusion  of  flowering  vines,  and  Richmond  Wildair  had 
been  lying  on  one  of  these,  studying  a  deeply  exciting  vol- 
ume, when  the  voices  of  the  children  fell  upon  his  ear. 
Very  intently  did  he  listen  to  their  conversation,  only  re- 
vealing himself  when  he  found  Georgia  was  about  to  leave. 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Georgia,"  he  said,  smilingly  ;  "  1 
ftm  very  glad  to  see  you.  Come,  jump  over  the  fence  and 
come  in  ;  you  can  do  it,  I  know." 

Now,  Georgia  was  neither  timid  nor  bashful,  but  while 
he  spoke  she  recollected  her  not  very  courteous  behavior 
the  previous  day,  and,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  hang 
her  head  and  blushed. 

He  appeared  to  have  forgotten,  or  at  least  forgiven  it, 
bnt  this  only  made  her  feel  it  all  the  more  keenly. 


TAMINQ    AN   EAGLET, 


[i,  I  wisk 

ike  boys, 

nquerora 

Wash- 

ive  made 
IS  he  did 

Ve  been 
e  aloug." 
.     Good- 

ipped  off 
jer,  look- 
go  away 

)S. 

under  a 
dair  bad 
iting  vol- 

bis  ear. 
,  only  re- 

to  leave, 
ngly ;  "  1 
fence  and 

but  while 

behavior 

,  she  hang 

trgiven  it. 


as 


**  Come,"  he  said,  catching  her  hands,  without  appear 
ing  to  notice  her  confusion  ;  "  one,  two,  three — jump  I" 

Georgia  laughed,  disengaged  her  hands,  and  with  the 
old  mischievous  spirit  twinkling  in  her  eyes,  with  one  fly- 
ing leap  vaulted  clear  over  his  head  far  out  into  the  gar- 
den. 

"  Bravo  I"  cried  Richmond  ;  "  excellently  done  !  I 
see  you  understand  gymnastics.  Now  I  would  offer  you 
some  flowers  only  I  heard  you  say  you  did  not  care  for 
them,  and  as  for  the  stars  I  regret  they  are  beyond  even 
my  reach." 

Georgia  looked  up  with  a  flush  that  reminded  him  of 
yesterday.  "  You  were  listening,"  she  said  disdainfully  ; 
"  that  is  mean  I" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Georgia,  I  was  not  listening 
intentionally  ;  I  am  not  an  eavesdropper,  allow  me  to  insin- 
uate. I  was  lying  there  studying  before  you  came,  and  did 
not  choose  to  put  myself  to  the  inconvenience  of  getting 
up  and  going  away  to  oblige  a  couple  of  small  young  ladies, 
more  particularly  when  I  found  their  conversation  so  in- 
tensely interesting.  Very  odd  tastes  and  fancies  you  have, 
my  little  Lady  Georgia." 

Georgia  was  silent — she  had  scarcely  heard  him — she 
was  thinking  of  something  else.  She  wanted  to  ask  about 
Oharley,  but — she  did  not  like  to. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  reading  her  thoughts  like 
an  open  book,  "  and  what  is  little  Georgia  thinking  of  so 
intently  ?" 

"  I — I — of  nothing,^*  she  was  going  to  say,  and  then  sh« 
checked  herself.  It  would  be  a  falsehood,  and  Georgia 
"was  proud  of  never  having  told  a  lie  in  her  life. 

"  And  what  does  *  I— I '  mean  ?" 


''\ 


TAMING    AN   EAGLET. 


**  I  was  thinking  of  your  brother  Charley,"  she  uAL 
looking  up  with  one  of  her  bright,  definant  flashes. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  quietly,  "  and  what  of  him  ?" 

"  I  should  like  to  know  how  he  is." 

"  He  is  ill — seriously  ill.  Charles  is  delicate,  and  his 
anlile  is  even  worse  hurt  than  we  supposed.  Last  night  he 
was  feverish  and  sleepless,  and  this  morning  he  was  not 
luJe  to  get  up." 

A  hot  flush  passed  over  Georgia's  face,  retreating  in 
itantaneously,  and  leaving  her  very  pale,  with  a  wild, 
uneasy,  glitter  in  her  large  dark  eyes.  Oh  !  If  he  should 
die,  she  thought.  It  was  through  her  fault  he  had  hurt 
himself  first,  and  then  she  had  been  obstinate,  and  would 
not  forgive  him.  Perhaps  he  would  die,  she  would  never 
he  able  to  tell  him  how  sorry  she  was  for  what  she  had 
done.  She  laid  her  hand  on  Richmond*s  arm,  and,  looking 
ap  earnestly  in  his  face,  said,  in  a  voice  that  trembled  a 
iittle  in  spite  of  herself  :  "  Do— do  you  think  he  will  die  ?" 

"  No,"  he  said,  gravely,  "  I  hope — ^I  think  not ;  but 
poor  Charley  is  really  ill,  and  very  lonely,  up  there  alone." 

"  I — I  should  like  to  see  him." 

It  was  just  what  Richmond  expected  ;  just  what  he 
Aad  uttered  the  last  words  to  hear  her  say.  Ser  eyes  were 
downcast,  and  she  did  not  see  the  almost  imperceptible 
imile  that  dawned  around  his  mouth.  When  she  looked 
up  he  was  grave  and  serious. 

**  I  think  he  will  be  able  to  sit  up  this  afternoon.  If 
yon  will  come  up  after  dinner  you  shall  see  him.  Mean- 
time, shall  I  show  you  through  the  grounds?  Perhaps 
you  have  never  been  here  before." 

He  changed  the  subject  quickly,  for  he  knew  it  would 
QOt  do  to  particularly  notice  her  request.     Georgia  had 


!;  ,  i 


TAMING    AN    EAGLET. 


97 


she  laML 


s. 


B,  and  his 
t  night  he 
le  was  not 

eating  in 

h   a  wild, 

he  should 

had  hurt 

md  would 

ould  never 

It  she  had 

id,  looking 

tremhled  a 

I  will  die  ?" 

not ;  but 

^ere  alone." 

st  what  he 
r  eyes  were 
iperceptible 
she  looked 

ernoon.  If 
im.  Mean- 
?    Perhaps 

jw  it  would 
Sl^eorgia  had 


■■»• 


>ften  before  wished  to  wander  through  the  long  walk«  and 
t»eautif ul  gardens  around,  but  now  her  little  dark  face  was 
downcast  and  troubled,  and  she  said,  gravely  : 

"  No — thank  you  !"  The  last  words  after  a  pause,  for 
politeness  was  not  in  the  little  lady's  line.  **  I  will  go  home 
now,  and  come  back  by-and-by.  You  needn't  open  the 
gate  ;  I  can  jump  over  the  fence.  There  I  don't  mind 
helping  me.     Good-by  1" 

She  sprang  lightly  over  the  wall,  and  was  gone,  and 
pulling  her  eun-bonnet  far  over  her  face,  set  out  f er  home. 

Miss  Jerusha  wondered  that  day,  in  confidence  to  Fly 
and  Betsey  Periwinkle,  what  had  "  come  to  Georgey,"  she 
was  so  still  and  silent  all  dinner-time,  and  sat  with  such  a 
moody  look  of  dark  gravity  in  her  face,  all  unusual  with 
the  sparkling,  restless  elf.  Well,  they  did  not  know  that 
the  free  young  forest  eaglet  had  got  its  wings  clipped  foi 
the  first  time,  that  day,  and  that  Georgia  could  exult  no 
more  in  the  thought  that  she  was  wholly  nnconquered  and 
free. 

Richmond  Wildair  was  at  his  post  immediately  after 
dinner,  awaiting  the  coming  of  Georgia.  He  knew  she 
would  come,  and  she  did.  He  saw  the  small,  dark  figure 
approaching,  and  held  the  gate  open  for  her  to  enter. 

"  Ah  1  you've  come,  Georgia  I"  he  said.  "  That  is  right 
Come  along  ;  Charley  is  here." 

"Does  he  know  I  am  coming?"  asked  Georgia,  soberly, 

"  Yes,  I  told  him.  He  expects  you.  Here— this  way. 
There  you  are  1" 

He  opened  the  door,  and  ushered  Georgia  into  a  sort  of 
summer-house  in  the  garden,  where,  seated  in  state,  in  an 
arm-chair,  was  Master  Charley,  looking  rather  paler  than 
when  she  saw  him  last,  but  with  the  same  half  droll,  half 

ft 


ifir^ 


r  1 


98 


TAMING    AN    EAGLET, 


indolent,  languid  air  about  him  that  seemed  to  be  bis  chief 
characteristic. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Georgia,"  he  began,  with  the  greatest 
empressementy  the  moment  he  saw  her,  *'  you  make  me  proud 
by  honoring  so  unworthy  an  individual  as  1  am  with  you? 
gracious  presence.  You'll  excuse  my  not  getting  up,  1 
hope ;  but  the  fact  is.  this  unfortunate  continuation  of 
mine  being  resolved  to  have  its  own  way  about  the  matter, 
can  be  induced  by  no  amount  of  persuasion  and  liniment  to 
behave  prettily,  and  utterly  scouts  the  idea  of  being  used 
as  a  means  of  support.  Pray  take  a  seat.  Miss  Georgia 
Darrell,  and  make  yourself  as  miserable  as  circumstances 
will  allow." 

To  this  speech,  uttered  with  the  utmost  verve,  and  with 
the  blandest  and  most  insinuating  tones,  Georgia  listened 
with  a  countenance  of  immovable  gravity,  and  at  its  close, 
instead  of  sitting  down,  she  walked  up,  stood  before  him, 
and  said : 

**  Yesterday  you  laughed  at  me,  and  I  was  angry.  You 
said  you  were  sorry,  and  I — I  came  to-day  to  tell  you  I  was 
willing  to  make  up  friends  again.    There  !" 

She  held  out  one  little  brown  hand  in  token  of  amity. 
With  the  utmost  difficulty  Charley  maintained  his  counte- 
nance sufficiently  to  shake  hands  with  her,  which  he  did 
with  due  decorum,  and  then,  without  another  word,  Georgia 
turned  and  walked  away. 

No  sooner  was  she  gone  than  Charley  leaned  back  and 
laughed  until  the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes.  While  he  was 
yet  in  a  paroxysm  Richmond  entered. 

**  Has  she  gone  ?"  asked  Charley,  finding  voice 

"  Yes,  looking  as  sober  as  Minerva  and  her  owl." 
Oh  t  that  girl  will  be  the  death  of  me,  that's  certaiD 


« 


QEOBQIA'B   DREAM. 


90 


>e  his  chief 

le  greatest 
e  me  proud 

with  VOQT 

m 

ting  np,  1 
nuation  of 
the  matter, 
liniraent  to 
being  used 
88  Georgia 
cumstances 

Cy  and  with 
;ia  listened 
^t  its  close, 
before  him, 


m 


By  George  t  it  was  good  as  a  play.  There  ehe  stood  with 
a  face  as  long  as  a  cofHn,  and  as  dark  and  solemn  as  a 
hearse,"  and  Charley  went  off  into  another  fit  of  laughter 
at  the  recollection. 

"  She  condescended  to  forgive  you  at  last,  you  see." 
"  Yes,  Miss  Georgia  and  I  have,  figuratively  speaking, 
smoked  the  pipe  of  peace.     Touching  sight  it  mubt  have 
been  to  a  third  person.     It  was  a  tight  fit,  though^  to  get 
her  to  do  it." 

"  I  think  I  could  manage  that  proud  little  lady,  if  she 
were  a  sister  of  mine.  I  shall  conquer  her  more  thoroughly 
yet  before  I  have  done  with  her.  I  have  a  plan  in  my  head, 
the  result  of  which  you  will  see  pretty  soon.  I  expect  she 
will  struggle  against  it  to  the  last  gasp,  but  she  shall  obey 
me,"  said  Richmond. 


Jgry.  You 
1  you  I  was 

1  of  amity, 
his  counte- 
lich  he  did 
rd,  Georgia 

d  back  and 
tiile  he  waa 

Be 

wl.*» 

it'i  oertaiD 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

GEOBGIA's  DBEAlf. 

**  The  wild  sparkle  of  her  eye  seemed  caught 
From  high,  aud  lighted  with  electric  thought, 
And  pleased  not  her  the  sports  which  please  her  age.** 

I  WO  weeks  passed.  Charley  was  quite  well  again, 
and  had  left  no  effort  untried  to  reinstate  him- 
self in  the  good  graces  of  Georgia.  As  that 
young  gentleman,  in  the  profundity  of  his 
humility,  had  once  told  her  he  seldom  failed  in  anything  he 
undertook,  and  with  his  seeming  genial  good  humor  and 
handsome  boyish  face,  he  never  found  it  a  difficult  task  to 


V 


'   J 


1 

1 
I 

■• 

if 

1 

1 



( 

100 


QEOBGIAS    DBEAM. 


make  people  like  him,  and  Georgia  was  no  more  able  to 
resist  his  inflaence  than  the  rest  of  the  world.  And  lo 
they  became  good  friends  again — *< brothers  in  arms*' 
Charley  said. 

At  first  Georgia  tried  to  resist  his  advances,  and  felt 
indignant  at  herself  for  allowing  him  to  talk  her  into  good 
humor  and  make  her  laugh  ;  but  it  was  all  of  no  use,  and 
at  last  the  struggle  was  given  up,  and  she  condescended  to 
patronize  Master  Wildair  with  a  grave  superiority  that 
disturbed  the  good  youth's  gravity  most  seriously  at  times. 

Kichmond  had  not  lost  his  interest  in  the  unique  child, 
and  his  influence  over  her  increased  every  day.  But  still 
he  was  the  only  one  who  had  any  command  over  her  ;  to 
the  rest  of  the  world  she  was  the  same  hot,  peppery,  fiery 
little  snap-dragon,  defying  all  wills  and  commands  that 
clashed  with  her  own.  And  even  his  wishes,  when  very 
repugnant  to  her,  she  openly  and  fiercely  braved  ;  but,  as  a 
general  thing,  she  began  to  be  anxious  to  please  her  young 
judge,  whose  grave  glance  of  stern  disapproval  could  trou- 
ble her  fearless  little  heart  as  that  of  no  other  in  the  world 
sver  could.  And,  though  she  was  too  prond  to  openly  let 
him  see  she  cared  for  his  approval  or  disapproval,  still  he 
did  see  it,  and  exulted  therein. 

Georgia  had  made  her  new  friends  acquainted  with  the 
pretty  little  Emily  Murray,  whom  Charley  unhesitatingly 
pronounced  at  first  sight  a  <*  regular  stunner,"  and  these 
four  soon  became  inseparable  friends.  At  first  Emily  was 
shy  and  silent,  which  Charley  perceiving,  he  also  assumed 
a  look  of  extreme  timidity,  not  to  say  distressing  bashf al- 
ness,  which  so  imposed  upon  simple  little  Emily,  that, 
pitying  his  evident  embarrassment,  she  would  timidly  try 
to  help  him  out  by  opening  a  conversation. 


'A 

I 


'm 


y-M 


■■■sa 

m 


GEORGIA'S    DREAM. 


101 


bl«  to 
ind  go 


arms 


>f 


id  felt 
o  good 
le,  and 
ded  to 
y  that 
times. 
» child, 
It  still 
er  ;  to 
r,  fiery 
s  that 
D  very 
It,  as  a 
young 
J  trou- 
world 
nly  let 
tiU  he 

th  the 
ktingly 
these 
ly  was 
snmed 
ishfal- 
,  thaty 
ly  try 


"  Is  it  nice  to  live  in  New  York  ?"  Emily  would  say^ 
hesitatingly. 

"  Yes'm,**  would  be  Charley's  reply,  in  a  tone  of  painful 
timidity. 

"  Nicer  than  here  ?" 

"  Yes'm— I— I  think  so." 

**  Won't  your  ma  miss  you  a  good  deal  ?**  Bmily  would 
insinuate,  getting  courage. 

"  No'm — I  mean  yes'm." 

"  Ain't  Georgia  nice  ?" 

"  Splendiferous  I" 

This  long  word  being  a  puzzle  to  Emily  she  would  have 
to  stop  a  moment  to  reflect  on  its  probable  meaning  before 
going  on. 

"  So  is  your  brother." 

'*  Yes,  but  he's  not  near  so  nice  as  I  am." 

Again  there  would  be  a  pause,  during  which  Emily 
would  look  deeply  shocked  by  this  display  of  vanity — and 
then  : 

**  It  ain't  nice  to  praise  one's  self,"  Emily  would  observe, 
seriously. 

**  Well,  but  it's  <rM«,"  Charley  would  begin,  in  an  argu- 
mentative tone.  "  Now  I  ask  yourself — don't  you  think  I'm 
nicer  than  he  is  ?" 

Now,  it  was  Miss  Emily's  private  conviction  that  he 
decidedly  was,  she  could  not  say  no,  and  not  wishing  to 
commit  herself  by  saying  yes,  she  would  look  grave,  and 
remain  silent.  But  Charley,^  whose  shyness  generally 
passed  away  at  this  point,  was  not  to  be  put  off,  and  would 
insist : 

"Now,  Emily,  just  tell  the  truth,  as  every  well*  brought- 


■^ 


101 


QEQBOlA'a    DREAM. 


up  little  girl  should,  and  say,  don't  you  like  me  twice  m 
well  as  you  do  Rich  ?" 

"  Well,  y©-€8,"  Emily  would  feply,  hesitatingly,  "  but  I 
guess  he  knows  more  than  you  do  ;  ho  looks  awfully  wise, 
anyway,  and  then  Georgia  minds  him,  and  she  don't  mind 
you." 

"  That's  because  she  isn't  capable  of  appreciating  solid 
^it  and  hidden  genius — or,  to  use  language  more  fitted  for 
four  uncultivated  intellect,  my  young  friend — she  doesn't 
< now  on  which  side  the  bread's  buttered.  Any  person  with 
bis  senses  about  him  would  see  at  a  glance  I  am  worth  a 
dozen  of  Richmond." 

"  No,  you're  not,'*  would  be  Emily's  decided  answer ; 
■*  you  only  think  so  yourself.  I  heard  Uncle  Edward  say- 
ing your  brother  was  wise  for  his  age,  and  knew  more  than 
any  young  man  he  ever  met,  and  he  only  laughed  about 
you,  and  said  you  were  a  *  curled  darling  of  nature,*  what- 
ever that  means.  So,  then,  I  guess  Uncle  Edward  knows 
better  than  yow." 

''Now, Miss  Emily,  I  can't  stand  this;  I  positively  can't 
you  know.  It's  outrageous  to  expect  me  to  lie  up  here  and 
be  abused  in  this  shameful  fashion,  and  told  anybody's 
Uncle  Edward  knows  more  about  me  than  I  do  myself. 
I've  an  immense  respect  for  Father  Murray,  but  still  I  won't 
permit  him  or  anybody  else  to  insinuate  that  they  know 
more  about  Mr.  Charles  Wildair  than  I  do.  I've  been 
acquainted  with  that  promising  youth  ever  since  he  wao 
the  size  of  a  well-grown  doughnut,  and  I  am  prepared  to 
say,  without  mental  reservation  of  any  kind,  that  he  is  a 
perfect  encyclopedia  of  all  sorts  of  learning — a  moving, 
livmg  Webster^s  Dictionary,  neatly  bound  in  cloth.  I've 
undergone  grai&mar,  declined  verbs  and  other  vio'ious  parts 


i 


:f. 


t      I 


%. 


GEOROlA'a    DREAM. 


101 


?ioe  M 

but  I 

wise, 
t  mind 

%  solid 
ed  for 
oesn't 
n  with 
rorth  a 

jswer ; 

'd  say- 

e  than 
about 
what- 

knows 

J  can't 

re  and 

body's 

lyself. 

won't 

know 

I  been 

e  wag 

red  to 

le  is  a 

jving, 

I've 

parts 


of  speech.  I  have  suffered  a  severe  course  of  geography, 
and  can  tell  to  an  iota  where  Ireland,  Kamtschatka,  and 
lots  of  other  aggravating  places  are  situated  ;  1  have  fouglt 
ray  way  through  French,  and  German,  and  Latin,  and  other 
dead  languages  ;  and  when  I  go  back  to  New  York,  Fra 
bound  to  have  at  them  again,  and  have  every  single  one 
of  them,  dead  or  alive,  at  my  fingers  ends.  T  have 
a  taste  for  poetry  and  the  fine  arts,  as  I  evinced  \n  early 
life  by  a  diligent  perusal  of  that  work  of  thrilling  interest 
known  as  *  Mother  Goose's  Melodies',  and  by  becoming 
a  proficient  on  the  Jew's-harp.  I  have  a  soul  above  the 
common.  Miss  Nancy,  and  can  discover  beauties  in  a  tallow 
candle,  and  sublimity  in  a  mug  of  milk  and  water.  And 
now,  if  after  this  brief  and  inadequate  exposition  you  don't 
acknowledge  that  my  thing-um-bob-sentiments  do  me  honor, 
then  your  intellect,  like  small  beer  in  thunder,  is  something 
to  be  looked  upon  with  pity  and  contempt !" 

As  Mr.  Wildair,  Jr.,  usually  promulgated  his  sentimenti 
to  an  admiring  world  in  an  exceedingly  slow  and  leisurely 
manner,  it  took  him  some  time  to  get  to  the  end  of  this 
speech,  and  when  he  was  done  he  found  that  Emily,  over- 
come by  the  heat  and  his  monotonous  tone,  was  dropping 
asleep.  Making  a  grimace,  he  was  about  to  lounge  back  into 
his  former  lazy  position,  when  Georgia,  who  had  left  them  a 
moment  before  in  full  chase  after  a  butterfly,  accompanied 
by  Richmond,  returned,  looking  so  woebegone  and  discon- 
solate that  Charley,  after  a  stare  of  surprise,  felt  called 
upon  by  the  claims  of  common  humanity  to  offer  her  con- 
solation. 

"  May  1  ask,  Miss  Georgia,  what  awful  mystery  of 
iniquity  has  come  to  light,  to  make  you  look  as  if  your  Iftst 
friend  had  been  hung  for  sheep-stealing  ?    You  look  abou^ 


|:; 


w 


it 


104 


UEORQIA'S    DRSaM. 


«8  intensely  dismal  now  as  a  whole  grove  cf  weeping 
willows." 

"  Oh  1  it's  my  butterfly  1  my  poor  butterfly  ."  said 
Georgia,  sorrowfully,  holding  up  the  dead  insect,  its  bright 
o^iors  all  faded  and  gone. 

"  Oh,  I  see — as  the  blind  man  said — the  insect  has 
departed  this  life.  Laving,  no  doubt,  a  large  and  bereaved 
ciicle  of  friendH  to  mourn  its  untimely  end.  Funeral  this 
evening,  when  friends  and  relatives  are  respectfully  invited 
to  attend — that's  the  newspaper  style,  eh  ?  May  I  venture 
to  inquire,  Georgia,  if  the  butterfly  in  question  was  a  per- 
sonal acquaintance  of  yours,  that  you  look  so  atilioted  at 
its  death  ?  Because  if  it  was,  I  shall  feel  called  upon  to 
shed  a  few  tears  myself,  out  of  regard  for  you." 

'^  Oh,  it  was  killed  ;  and  it  was  so  pretty.  Wasn't  it 
pretty  ?'*  said  Georgia,  looking  in  real  grief,  amusing  to 
witness,  at  the  poor  little  crushed  insect. 

"  Strangely  beautiful,"  said  Charley.  I  remarked  it  at 
the  time  ;  every  feature  was  perfect.  Roman  nose,  intel- 
lectual forehead,  well- formed  head,  with  the  bump  of 
benevolence  largely  developed,  blue  hair,  and  curly  teeth. 
And  so  it  was  killed,  was  it  ?  Georgia,  my  friend,  in 
the  name  of  common  humanity,  in  the  name  of  the  law,  I 
ask  you  who  was  the  cold-blooded  assassin  ?" 

<*  Poor  little  thing  !  Richmond  killed  it,"  said  Georgia, 
too  deeply  troubled  about  the  loss  of  the  bright-hued  in- 
sect to  notice  Charley*s  highfalutin  tones. 

*<  Blood-thirsty  monster !  let  him  beware !  the  day  ot 
retribution  is  at  hand  !"  exclaimed  Charley,  in  tones  so 
tragic  that  it  would  have  made  his  fortune  on  the  stage. 
"  Yes,  the  day  is  at  hand  when  the  oppressed  and  down- 
trodden race  of  butterflies  will  rise  in  arms  against  such 


QJSORQlAa    DREAM,  IM 

tyrants  as  he,  and  Mr.  Richmond  Wildair  will  probably 
find  himself  knocked  into  a  cocked  hat.  But  how  did  it 
happen?  Explain  the  horrid  deed.  I  have  steeled  mj 
soul,  and  nothing  can  move  me  more." 

And  Master  Charley  struck  his  forehead  with  nis  fist, 
and  assumed  an  expression  so  frightfully  despairing  that 
an  artist  wishing  to  paint  a  patriot  beholding  the  ruin  of 
his  country  would  have  given  all  the  spare  change  he 
might  have  for  a  glimpse  of  that  agonized  face. 

"  Why,"  said  Georgia,  "  I  couldn't  catch  it,  and  Rich- 
mond was  determined  to  do  it.  So  he  struck  his  hat  down 
over  it,  and  when  he  took  it  off  it  was  dead,  and  all  its 
beautiful  colors  faded  and  gone  ;  poor  little  thing  I'' 

"  Oh,  my  wretched  country  I"  exclaimed  Charley,  rais* 
ing  his  hands  and  eyes,  "and  it  is  under  the  shadow  of  thy 
laws  such  barbarous  atrocities  are  committed  ;  in  the  face 
of  open  day  crimes  such  as  these,  that  make  the  blood  run 
down  one's  back  like  a  pail  of  cold  water,  are  perpetrated  ! 
And  man — black-hearted  man — is  the  author  of  these 
deeds  I  What  other  animal  would  perpetrate  such  a  crime  ? 
Would  a  horse,  or  a  cow,  or  even  a  donkey,  now,  with 
malice  aforethought,  malice  at  which  we  shudder  as  if  we 
had  taken  a  dose  of  castor  oil,  take  off  its  hat  and  smash 
all  to  pieces  an  upright  member  of  society — like  that  dilap 
idated  butterfly,  who  at  the  time  was  probably  thinking  of 
his  happy  wife  and  children  at  home — that  is,  supposing  it 
wasn't  an  old  bachelor?  I  ask  you  again  what  other — 
but  perhaps  we  have  hardly  time  to  do  the  subject  justice 
at  present,"  said  Charley,  changing  his  tone  with  startling 
abruptness,  from  one  of  the  deepest  anguish  to  the  indiffer- 
ent one  of  every-day  life.     "  Where's  Rich,  Ge  ^rgia  ?" 

"  Here,  mon  frert^  replied  Richmond  himself,  as  he 


106 


GS0BGU*8   DMBAU. 


came  up  and  threw  himself  carelessly  on  the  grast. 
**  Come,  Georgia,  throw  away  that  dead  insect,  and  don't 
stand  looking  so  pitiously  at  it.  There  are  plenty  more 
bntterflies  where  that  came  from.  Why,  Emily,  you're 
not  falling  asleep,  are  you  ?" 

Emily  started  up,  blushing  deeply  at  being  caught  in  the 
act,  and  put  on  a  wide-awake  look  indeed,  as  if  to  utterly 
repudiate  the  idea  of  such  a  thing. 

"  I  hope  your  dreams  were  pleasant— eh,  Em  ?"  asked 
Charley. 
,   "  I  didn't  dream,"  said  Emily,  blushing. 

"  /dreamed  last  night,"  said  Georgia,  soberly. 

"  About  me,  wasn't  it  ?"  said  Charley,  briskly. 

"  About  yow,"  said  Georgia,  contemptuously.  "  No  ;  I 
ain't  such  a  goose  !  It  was  a  dreadful  dream — agh  t"  and 
Georgia  shuddered. 

"  Oh,  Georgia,  tell  us — what  was  it  about  ?"  exclaimed 
Emily,  eagerly. 

"  Do,  Georgia,  and  I'll  be  the  Joseph  who  will  interpret 
it,"  said  Charley. 

Georgia  looked  grave  and  dark,  and  was  silent. 

"  Come,  Georgia,  tell  us,"  said  Richmond.  **  I  should 
like  to  hear  this  dream  ot  yours." 

**  Oh,  it  was  awful !"  said  Georgia,  speaking  in  a  hushed 
tone  of  awe.  "  I  thought  I  was  walking  on  and  on  through 
a  dark,  gloomy  place,  following  some  one  who  made  me 
come  on.  The  ground  was  full  of  sharp  stones  and  hurt 
my  feet,  and  they  bled  dreadfully  ;  but  he  wouldn't  let  me 
■top,  but  pulled  me  on  and  on,  till  the  ground  where  I 
walked  was  all  covered  with  blood." 

'*  Hard-hearted  monster !"  said  Charley  ;  **  shaoU 
admire  to  be  punching  that  fellow's  head  for  him  I" 


I!* 


OEOBQIA'S   DREAM, 


ion 


grass, 
don't 
W  more 
you're 

in  the 
itterly 

asked 


No;  I 
I"  and 

[aimed 

erpret 

ihonld 

lushed 
rough 
le  me 
I  hurt 
let  me 
lere  I 

faoald 


m 


•*  As  we  went  on,"  continued  Georgia,  looking  straight 
before  her  with  a  dark  kind  of  earnestness,  and  speaking  in 
the  tone  of  one  describing  events  then  passing, "  the  ground 
grew  sharper  and  sharper,  and  the  blood  flowed  so  fast  that 
at  last  I  screamed  out  for  him  to  let  me  go,  that  I  couldn't 
walk  any  farther.  But  he  orly  laughed  at  me,  and  pulled 
me  on." 

"  The  scoundrel  I"  broke  in  Charley.  "  If  I  had  been 
^here,  I  would  have  made  him  laugh  on  the  other  side  of 
bis  mouth." 

**Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  we  came  to  a  great,  red-hot 
blazing  fire,  that  looked  like  burning  serpents  with  tongues 
of  flame.  AH  was  fire,  fire,  fire,  on  every  side,  red-hot 
blazing  flames,  that  crackled  and  roared,  and  i^  ide  every- 
thing as  red  as  blood.  I  screamed  out  and  tried  to  break 
away,  but  he  held  me  fast  and  pushed  me  into  the  fire. 
I  felt  burning,  scorching,  roasting.  I  screamed  out,  and 
fell  all  burned  and  blazing  on  the  ground  ;  and  then  I 
woke,  and  I  was  sitting  up  in  bed  screaming  out,  and  Miss 
Jerusha  was  standing  over  me  holding  me  down." 

Georgia  paused,  and  there  was  something  in  her 
blanched  face,  horror-dilated  eyes,  and  deep,  awe- struck 
tones  that  for  a  moment  sent  a  superstitious  thrill  to  every 
heart.  It  was  for  a  moment,  and  then  Charley  carelessly 
remarked : 

**  Nightmares  are  pleasant  quadrupeds  I  know ;  I 
made  the  acquaintance  of  one  after  eating  half  a  mince  pie 
and  three  pigs'  feet  one  night  before  going  to  bed  ;  but  for 
constant  exercise  I  must  say  I  should  decidedly  prefer 
riding  Miss  Jerusha's  Shanghai  rooster  to  trying  the  txp«r- 
iment  again.*' 


106 


QSOBGIA'S   DREAM. 


I. 


*'Did  you  recognize  the  man  who  was  with  jon  I** 
Richmond. 

"  Yes,"  said  Georgia,  in  a  low  voice. 

**  You  did,  eh  ?"  said  Oha„iey  ;  "  who  was  *t  T* 

"IshaVttellyou." 

"  Oh,  now,  you  wouldn't  be  so  cruel.   Come,  out  with  it." 

**  I  won't,"  said  Georgia,  with  one  of  her  sharp  flashes  ; 
"  but  it's  true — every  word  of  it." 

"  You  mean  it  will  come  true  ?"  said  Richmond. 

"Yes." 

"Why,  Georgia,  do  you  believe  in  dreams?"  said 
Emily.    "  Oh,  that's  wicked  ;  mother  says  so." 

"  Wicked  I  it's  no  such  thing.  What  do  people  dream 
for  if  they're  not  to  come  true  ?" 

"  So  you  believe  you  are  destined  to  be  bomed  up  T' 
said  Richmond. 

"  Yes,"  said  Georgia,  unhesitatingly. 

"  Oh,  I  haven't  the  slightest  doubt  of  it,"  said  Charley; 
**  if  you  miss  it  in  this  world,  you'll " 

"  Now,  Charley,  be  quiet,"  said  Richmond,  soothingly  ; 
"  you  have  no  experience  in  different  sorts  of  worlds,  so 
you  are  not  capable  of  judging.  Georgia,  you  are  the 
most  silly- wise  child  I  ever  met  in  all  my  life." 

"  What  1"  said  Georgia,  with  a  scowL 

"  You  are  so  unnaturally  precocious  in  some  ways,  and 
so  childishly  simple  in  others.  You  know  the  most  unex- 
pected things,  and  are  ignorant  of  the  commonest  facts 
that  any  infant  almost  comprehends.  You  are  morbid  and 
superstitious — but  I  knew  that  before.  A.  little  learning  is 
a  dangerous  thing.     Georgia,  you  ought  to  go  to  school." 

Now,  school  was  Georgia's  pet  abomination.  Miss  Jer- 
ttskft,  partly  to  be  rid  of  her  and  partly  for  the  propriety 


GEORGIA'S   DSEAM. 


IM 


MkMl 


ith  it." 
ashes  ; 


*"  said 

dream 

i  upr 

harlej; 

lingly  ; 
rids,  so 
kre  the 


fB,  and 
unex- 
t  facts 
id  and 
aing  is 

lOOl." 

Bs  Jer* 
>prietj 


of  the  thing,  had  often  wished  to  send  her ;  bot  the  idea  of 
being  cooped  up  a  prisoner  within  the  walls  of  a  school* 
room,  and  obliged  to  obey  every  command,  was  abhorrent 
to  the  free,  unfettered,  nntamed  child.  Go  to  school, 
indeed  !  Not  she  I  She  laughed  at  the  notion.  Rich- 
mond had  never  spoken  of  it  before  to  her,  and  now,  con- 
scious of  his  power  over  her,  and  trembling  for  her  threat- 
ened liberty,  all  the  old  spirit  of  daring  and  fierce  defiance 
flashed  up  in  her  bold  black  eyes,  and,  springing  to  her 
feet,  she  confronted  him. 

"  I  wonHI    ril  never  go  to  school  !     I  hate  it  I" 

Georgia  never  said  "  I  can't  "  or  "  I  don't  like  to,"  bat 
her  dauntless,  defiant  "  I  trt7/,"  and  ^'  I  wonH^^  bespoke  her 
nature.    Emily  said  the  former  ;  Georgia,  never. 

Richmond  expected  exactly  this  answer,  therefore  he 
only  smiled  slightly,  and  carelessly  asked, 

"  Why  ?" 

"  Because  I  won't  be  shut  up  in  a  nasty  old  school-house, 
and  not  be  able  to  speak  or  move  without  asking  leave. 
I'll  not  go  for  any  ontP  she  said,  flashing  a  threatening 
glance  at  him. 

"  Every  one  else  does  it,  Georgift." 

"  I  don't  care  for  every  one  else.** 

"/did  it,  Georgia." 

"  WeU,  I  don't  care  for  you  I" 

«« Whew  I"   whistled  Charley.    "Sharp  f hooting,  thii.* 

"  Then  you  prefer  to  grow  up  a—" 

"  What  ?" 

<*  A  dunce,  and  be  laughed  at." 

« Let  them  laugh  at  me !  let  them  dare  do  it !"  3na4 
Georgia,  fiercely. 

"  And  dare  do  it  they  will.    Pooh,  Georgia,  have  sense. 


110 


GEOBGIA'&    DREAM. 


>    ill 


i  ) 


Toil  can't  roll  up  your  sleeves  and  go  to  fisticaffs  with  th« 
whole  world.  What  else  can  you  expect  but  to  be  laughed 
at  when  you  are  a  woman  if  you  know  nothing  but  what 
you  do  now  ?  Wait  till  you  see  the  wise  little  woman 
Emily  here  is  going  to  be.  Why,  your  friends  will  be 
ashamed  of  you,  Georgia,  by  and  by,  if  you  don't  learn 
something." 

"  Let  them,  then  I     I  don't  care  for  them  I" 

"  Oh,  don't  you  ?  I  thonght  that  as  they  cared  so  muob 
iOi  you,  you  might  care  a  little  for  them.  I  am  sorry  it  is 
not  so,  Georgia  ;  I  am  very  sorry  my  little  friend  is  selfish 
and  ungrateful." 

*^  I  am  not  ungrateful,"  said  Georgia,  passionately,  but 
her  lips  quivered. 

"  Then  prove  it  by  doing  something  to  please  your 
friends.  Think  how  they  have  tried  to  please  you,  and 
just  ask  yourself  what  you  have  done  in  return  to  please 
them.  Come,  Georgia,  be  reasonable.  Tou  will  think 
better  of  this  when  you  come  to  reflect  on  it." 

"  That's  right.  Rich,"  cried  Charley  ;  "  go  in  and  win  1 
I  always  knew  you  had  a  native  talent  for  teaching  young 
ideas  how  to  shoot.    Splendid  parson  you'd  make." 

''  I  have  tried  to  please  them !  I  have  tried  to  please 
you  /" 

"  Well,  did  I  ever  ask  you  to  do  any  thing  but  frhat 
was  your  duty  to  do  ?  I  am  afraid  you  have  not  a  good 
idea  of  what  that  word  means.  I  am  your  fri(i:«a,  yoa 
know,  Georgia,  am  I  not  ?"  he  said  gently. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  with  a  trembling  lip 

"  But  I  am  your  true  friend.  What  differeiioe  can  it 
make  to  me  whether  you  grow  up  learned  and  accomplished, 
or  as  ignorant  as  your  little  servant.  Fly  ?" 


GEOBOIA'S   DREAM. 


m 


ith  the 
Lughed 
t  what 
nroman 
^ill  be 
learn 


muoh 
:y  it  is 
selfish 

ly,  but 

9  your 

u,  and 

please 

think 

I  win  I 
young 

please 

:   frhat 

good 

(,  you 


can  it 
Lished, 


•*  A  great  deal,  if  she  know  but  all,"  muttered  Charley. 

<'  But  I  hate  school !  I  should  die  if  I  was  'i^ept  in/' 
iaid  Georgia  with  a  sort  of  cry. 

"  Nonsense  I  You  would  do  no  such  thing  I  Do  you 
remember  the  bird  I  caught  for  you  and  put  in  a  cage  ? 
Yes !  well,  it  struggled  to  get  out,  and  beat  its  winga 
against  the  bars  of  the  cage  until  you  thought  it  would 
nave  beat  itself  to  death,  yet  now  it  is  a  willing  captive/^ 

<*  Yes,  it  is  like  a  wooden  bird,  without  life  ;  it  lies  in 
the  bottom  of  the  cage  and  hardly  ever  sings  or  moves  ;  it 
isn't  worth  having  now,"  said  Georgia,  her  lip  curling  with 
a  sort  of  scorn. 

"  Well,  it  will  be  different  with  you  ;  you  are  ambitious, 
Georgia,  and  in  trying  to  pass  your  schoolmates  you  will 
feel  a  delight  and  pride  you  never  experienced  before.  A 
new  world  will  be  opened  to  you ;  you  will  like  it.  Do  go, 
Georgia ;  if  I  were  not  your  friend,  if  I  did  not  like  you 
very  much,  I  should  not  ask  you." 

Charley,  with  his  head  bent  down  whistling  "  Yankee 
Doodle,"  was  shaking  with  inward  laughter. 

**  Oh,  Georgia,  do  come,"  pleaded  Emily. 

Georgia,  with  her  lips  compressed,  her  glittering  black 
eyes  burning  into  the  ground,  stood  silent,  motionless, 
tnmedtoiron. 

«  Well,  Georgia  V* 

No  reply. 

"  Georgia  /"  Richmond  cried,  anxioosl j. 

She  lifted  her  eyes. 

"Welir 

"  Georgia,  will  you  go— I  want  you  to— you  don't  know 
kow  deeply  gjrieved  I  shall  be  if  you  refuse ;  so  deeply 
grieved  that  we  shall  be  friends  no  longer.    Georgia,  I  am 


I1 


1   I 


IJ 


;  111 


112 


QEORQlA*a    DBBAM. 


going  away  from  here  soon— I  may  never  come  back— 
never  see  you  again,  and  I  should  be  sorry  we  should  pari 
bad  friends.     Georgia,  will  you  go  ?" 

"  Yes." 

It  was  a  hard-wrung  assent.  The  word  dropped  from 
her  lips  as  though  it  burned  them. 

Charley's  whistle  at  that  moment  spoke  volumes. 
Emily  looked  delighted,  and  the  face  of  Richmond  Wildair 
lit  up  with  triumph  and  exultation.  Once  that  "  yes  "  had 
been  uttered  he  knew  her  word  would  be  sacredly  kept. 
How  he  exulted  that  moment  in  his  power. 

"  Thank  you,  Georgia,"  he  cried,  springing  to  his  feet, 
and  holding  out  his  hand,  "  we  are  fast  friends  forever  now." 

Georgia  shook  hands,  but  the  fingers  she  gave  him  were 
little  rigid  bars  of  steel — no  life — no  warmth  there. 

"  When  will  you  go  ?"  said  Richmond,  following  up 
his  advantage,  on  the  principle  of  striking  while  the  iron 
was  hot. 

"  On  Monday." 

"  Oh,  Georgia,  I'm  so  glad  !  Oh,  Georgia  that's  so  nice !" 
exclaimed  Emily,  dancing  round  delightedly,  and  clasping 
her  hands. 

Georgia's  face  was  a  blank — cold  and  meaningless. 

"  That  is  right !   Georgia,  you  are  a  good  girl  I" 

"  If  I  had  refused  to  do  as  you  told  me  I  would  hart 
been  a  selfish,  ungrateful  thing— I  understand  I"  said 
Georgia,  turning  away  with  a  curling  lip. 

Richmond  started.  There  was  the  look  of  a  woman  in 
her  childish  face  at  that  moment.  It  was  one  of  her 
precocious  turns. 

'*  Now,  don't  be  cross,  Georgia ;  it's  real  nioe  to  g«  to 


1 


■I 


QEORQIAS    DREAM. 


US 


»> 


•ohool  After  yon  get  used  to  it,"  said  £mily,  in  her  prettj, 
coaxing  way,  putting  her  arms  round  her  waist. 

"  I  must  go  home — Miss  Jerusha  will  want  me,"  said 
Georgia,  by  way  of  reply,  as  she  resolutely,  almost  rudely, 
unclasped  Emily's  clinging  arms. 

"  Shall  I  go  with  you  ?"  said  Richmond,  making  a  step 
forward. 

"  No  ! "  exclaimed  Qeorgia,  with  one  of  her  peculiar 
gharp,  bright  flashes,  as  she  turned  away  in  the  direction 
of  the  cottage. 

Richmond  and  Emily  sauntered  back  to  Bumfield 
together,  chatting  gayly.  As  Richmond  entered  the 
grounds  of  his  uncle's  stately  residence  he  saw  his  brother 
standing  in  the  threshold  humming  a  classical  ditty. 

"Bravo,  Richmond,  old  boy  l"  cried  Charley,  giving 
him  a  sounding  slap  on  the  shoulder ;  "  you  deserve  a 
leather  medal !  Do  you  think  any  of  the  blood  of  your 
namesake  of  evil  memory  has  descended  to  you  ?" 

"  Pshaw,  Charley  !  don't  be  a  fool !"  said  Richmond, 
impatiently. 

"  I  don't  intend  to,  my  dear  brother,"  said  Charley, 
dryly  ;  "  but  the  scales  fell  from  my  eyes  to-day.  What  a 
world  we  live  in  I" 

"  Tush  !  will  you  never  learn  to  talk  sense,  Charles  f^ 
•aid  Richmond,  biting  his  lips  to  maintain  his  gravity,  aa 
he  shook  off  his  hand  and  passed  into  the  house. 


j  I 


I  1 


1 

a'.  'I 
U 1] 


I 
1 


Hi 


COMING    EVENTS    CAST 


1 


rl 

I 


CHAPTER  VIIL 

*  OOMna  STBNTS  CAST  THBIB  SHADOWS  BBVOBB.* 

**  A  look  of  pride,  an  eye  of  flame, 

A  full  drawn  lip  that  upward  curled, 

Ac  eye  that  seemed  to  scorn  the  world.'* 

HE  little  town  of  Burnfield  contained  but  one 
school,  within  the  old  brown  walls  and  moss- 
grown  eaves  of  which  the  "  fathers  of  the  ham- 
let "  for  many  a  generation  had  sat  at  the  feet 
of  some  worthy  pedagogue,  or  pedagoguess,  as  the  case 
might  be,  to  catch  the  wisdom  that  fell  from  their  lips. 
In  summer  woman  held  her  sway  there,  but  in  winter  man 
reigned  supreme  on  the  throne  of  learning,  and  "  boarded 
round,"  a  cnstom  not  yet  obsolete. 

Onoe  every  year  came  the  great  anniversary  of  the 
school,  the  last  day  of  April,  when  the  <<  master's  "  term 
expired,  and  he  left  the  town  to  the  dominion  of  the  new 
school-marm.  Then  took  place  the  great  public  examina- 
tion, in  which  lanky  youths,  weighed  down  with  the  con- 
sciousness of  their  responsibility  and  first  tail-coats,  and 
oherry-cheeked  girls,  bursting  ont  of  their  hooks  and  eyes, 
showed  off  before  the  admiring  Burnfieldians,  and  received 
their  rewards  of  merit,  more  highly  prized  by  them  than 
the  Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  would  be  by  some  old 
French  veteran.  A  new  innovation  had  lately  been  intro- 
daoed  by  one  of  the  teachers — that  of  speaking  dialogues  at 
these  distributions,  and  wonderful  was  the  delight  young 
Burnfield  took  in  these  displays.    The  more  strait-laced  of 


lEElR    8EAD0W3    BEFORE^ 


115 


the  parents  at  first  objected  to  this,  as  smacking  too  much 
of  "  play  acting/'  but  young  Bumfield  had  a  decided  will 
of  its  own,  and  looked  contemptuoubly  on  the  "  slow  "  ideas 
of  old  Burnfield,  iwud  finally,  in  triumph,  carried  the  day. 

The  great  day  arrived,  and  the  anxious  parents  who  had 
young  ideas  at  sahool,  were  crowding  rapidly  toward  the 
large  old-fashioned  school-house  under  the  hill.  Among 
them,  in  grim,  unbending  majesty,  stalked  Miss  Jerusha 
Skamp,  resplendent  in  what  she  was  pleased  to  term  her 
new  "kaliker  gound,"  a  garment  which  partook  of  the 
nature  of  its  forerunners  in  being  exceedingly  short  and 
exceedingly  skimpy,  and  the  gorgeous  patterns  of  which 
can  be  likened  to  nothing  save  a  highly  exaggerated  rain- 
bow. But  Miss  Jerusha,  happy  in  the  belief  that  nothing 
like  it  had  appeared  in  modern  times,  walked  majestically 
in,  upsetting  some  loose  benches,  half  a  dozen  small  boys, 
and  other  trifles  that  lay  in  her  way,  and  took  her  seat  on 
one  of  the  front  benches.  The  boys,  gorgeous  in  blue  and 
gray  homespun  coats,  with  brass  buttons  of  alarming  size 
and  brightness,  were  ranged  on  one  side,  and  the  girls, 
arrayed  in  all  the  hues  of  a  flower-garden,  on  the  other. 
Miss  Jerusha's  eyes  wandered  to  the  side  where  the  girls 
sat,  and  rested  with  a  look  of  evident  pride  and  self -com- 
plaisance on  one — a  look  that  said  as  plainly  as  words, 
"  There  1  look  at  that  1  there's  my  handiwork  for  you." 

And  certainly,  amid  the  many  handsome,  blooming  girls 
there,  not  one  was  more  worth  looking  at  than  she  on 
whom  Miss  Jerusha's  eyes  rested.  The  tall,  slight,  but 
well-portioned  form  had  none  of  the  awkwardness  common 
to  girls  in  their  transition  stages.  The  queenly  little  head 
was  poised  superbly  on  the  sloping  neck,  the  clear  olive 
skin,  with  its  glowing  crimson  lips  and  cheeks,  was  the 


lie 


'*  COMING    EVENTS    OAST 


Tery  ideal  of  dark,  rich,  southern  beauty;  the  jet-blaok 
■nining  hair,  swept  off  the  broad  forehead  in  smooth  silken 
braids,  became  well  the  scarlet  ribbons  that  bound  it,  as 
did  also  the  close-fitting  crimson  dress  she  wore. 

Georgia  (for  of  course  every  reader  above  the  unsus- 
pecting age  of  three  years  knows  who  it  is),  without  being 
at  all  aware  of  it,  always  fell  into  the  style  of  dress  that 
best  suited  her  and  harmonized  with  her  warm,  tropical 
complexion — dark,  rich  colors,  such  as  black,  purple,  crim- 
son, or,  in  summer,  white.  The  two  years  that  have  passed 
since  we  saw  her  last  have  changed  her  wonderfully  ;  but 
the  full,  proud,  passionate,  flashing  eyes  are  the  same  in 
their  dark  splendor  ;  the  short,  curling  upper  lip  and 
curved  nostril  tell  a  tele  of  pride,  and  passion,  and  darings 
and  scornful  power — tell  that  time  may  have  softened,  but 
has  not  eradicated,  the  temper  of  our  stormy  little  essence 
of  wildfire. 

Tes,  she  sits  there,  leaning  listlessly  back  in  her  seat, 
her  little  restless  brown  hands  folded  quietly  enough  in 
her  lap,  her  long  black  lashes  vailing  her  darkly  glancing 
eyes,  cast  down  by  a  sort  of  proud  indolence  ;  but  it  is  the 
calm  that  precedes  the  tempest,  the  dangerous  spirit  of  the 
drowsy  and  beautiful  leopard,  the  deep,  treacherous  still- 
ness that  heralds  the  bursting  sheets  of  fire  from  the 
volcano's  bosom,  the  white  ashes  that  overlie  consuming 
flames  hidden  beneath  them,  but  ready  at  any  moment  to 
burst  forth.  And  l^ere  she  sat,  known  only  to  those  prea- 
ent  as  the  "  smart  little  girl,"  the  star  scholar  of  the  school, 
good-looking,  bright,  generous,  and  warm-hearted,  too,  but 
"  ugly  tempered." 

The  dark,  bright,  handsome  eyes  of  the  girl  of  fifteea 
had  already  carried  unexampled  desolation  into  more  than 


THEIR   SHADOWS   BEFORS.** 


in 


I 


one  sasceptible  breast,  and  some  of  the  unhappj  youths 
were  so  badly  stricken  as  to  be  guilty  of  the  atrocity  of 
perpetrating  soul-harrowing  "  pote  ''-ry  to  those  same  dan- 
gerous optics.  But  these  were  only  the  worst  cases,  and 
even  they  never  tried  it  but  in  the  first  delirium  of  the 
attack,  and,  like  all  delirious  fevers,  it  soon  passed  away, 
died  out  like  a  hot  little  fire  under  (to  use  a  homely  simile) 
the  wet  blanket  of  her  cool,  utter  indifference,  and  they 
returned  to  their  buckwheat  cakes,  and  pork,  and  molasses 
with  just  as  good  an  appetite  as  ever. 

One  by  one  the  people  came  in  until  the  school-house 
was  filled,  and  then  the  exercises  commenced.  The  prem- 
iums were  arranged  on  a  table,  and  on  a  desk  beside  it 
stood  the  master,  who  rose  and  called  out : 

"  First  prize  for  general  excellence  awarded  to  Miss 
Georgia  Darrell." 

There  was  a  moment's  profound  silence,  while  every 
eye  turned  upon  Georgia,  and  then,  as  if  by  general  impulse, 
there  was  an  enthusiastic  round  of  applause,  for  her  warm, 
ardent  nature,  and  many  generous  impulses,  made  her 
schoolmates  like  her  in  spite  of  her  ebullitions  of  temper. 
And  in  the  midst  of  this  Georgia  rose,  with  a  flashing  eye 
and  kindling  cheek,  and,  advancing  to  where  the  teacher 
stood,  received  the  first  prize  from  his  hand,  courtesied, 
and,  with  head  proudly  erect,  and  cheeks  hot  with  the  ex- 
citement of  triumph,  walked  back  to  her  seat. 

Then  came  the  other  premiums,  for  grammar,  for  geog- 
raphy, history,  and  astronomy ;  the  first  prize  was  still 
awarded  to  <' Miss  Georgia  Darrell,"  until  the  good  folks  of 
Bumfield  began  to  knit  their  brows  in  anger  and  jealousy, 
and  accused  the  master  of  being  swayed,  like  the  rest,  by  a 
handsome  face,  and  unjustly  depriving  their  offspring  for 


'I 
'I 


lis 


"COMING    BVBSJS    OAST 


!3 


I 


the  take  of  this  "  stuck-  up  Georgia  Darrell/'  who— ai  Dea* 
con  Brown  remarked,  in  a  scandalized  tone — seemed  to 
despise  the  very  **  airth  she  walked  on.*' 

The  distribution  was  over  at  last,  and  then  came  th« 
dialogues.  And  here  Georgia's  star  was  in  the  ascendant 
again.  She,  and  the  teacher,  perhaps,  knew  what  acting 
was — not  one  of  the  rest  had  the  remotest  idea — and  they 
held  their  very  breath  to  listen,  as  losing  her  own  identity 
her  eyes  blazed  and  her  cheeks  burned,  and  she  strode  up 
and  down,  declaiming  with  such  vehement  gestures,  that 
they  looked  at  one  another  in  a  sort  of  terror,  wonder,  and 
admiration.  And  once,  when  she  and  another  were  repeat- 
ing a  selection  from  Tamerlane,  where  she  took  the  char- 
acter of  Bajazet,  and  Tamerlane,  in  a  sort  of  wonder  and 
admiration,  says  : 

'*  The  world  !  'twould  be  too  little  for  thy  pride  t 
Thou  wouldst  scale  heaven  1*' 


'i 


■i 


Georgia's  eyes  of  lightning  blazed,  and  raising  her  hand 

with  a  passionate  gesture,  she  strode  over  and  fiercely 

thundered : 

"  I  WOULD  !    Away  1  my  soul 
Disdains  thy  conference  1" 


'i;i 


The  Tamerlane  of  the  moment  recoiled  in  terror,  and 
there  was  an  instant  of  death-like  silence,  while  every  heart 
thrilled  with  the  knowledge  that  the  dark,  wild  girl  waa 
not  "  acting,''  but  speaking  the  truth. 

It  was  all  over  at  last,  and,  with  a  few  words  from  the 
teacher,  the  assembly  was  dismissed.  As  Georgia  gathered 
up  her  armful  of  prizes  and  put  on  her  bonnet,  the  teacher 
oame  over,  and,  to  the  jealousy  of  the  other  pupils,  held  out 
his  hand  to  her,  who  had  from  the  first  been  his  favorite. 


^1 
■I 


<■■: 

','' 

H 


THEIR    SHADOWS    BEFORE,'* 


111 


<<Qood-by,  Bajazet/'  he  said,  smiling  ;  ''yoa  electrified 
the  good  people  of  Burufield  to-day.*' 

Georgia  laughed. 

"  Do  you  know  you  were  not  acting  just  now,  Geor- 
gia? Do  you  know  you  are  ambitious  enough  to  scale 
heaven  ?  Do  you  know  that  you  have  within  you  what 
hurled  Lucifer  from  heaven  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  said,  lifting  her  eyes  boldly  ;  "  I  know 
it." 

"  And  do  you  not  fear  ?" 

"  No,  sir." 

**  Do  you  know  you  are  composed  of  elements  that  will 
make  you  either  an  angel  or  a — demon  ?" 

'*  Miss  Jerusha  says  Tm  the  latter  note,  bir,"  she  said, 
with  a  light  laugh. 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  smile  half  fond,  half  sad. 

"  Georgia,  take  care." 

"  Of  what,  sir  ?" 

"  Of  yourself-'jouT  worst  enemy," 

'*  Father  Murray  says  everyone  is  his  own  wont  en- 
emy." 

**Yoxi  are  not  like  everyone.  Yon  are  a  little  two- 
edged  sword  in  a  remarkably  thin  sheath,  my  little  sprite. 
Take  care." 

"  Well,  I  know  I'm  thin,"  said  Georgia,  who  was  in  one 
of  her  nnserious  moods  ;  but  that  is  my  misfortune,  Mr. 
Coleman,  not  my  fault.  Wait  a  little  while,  and  you'll  see 
I'll  turn  out  to  be  a  female  pocket  edition  of  Daniel  Lam* 
bert." 

"  G^rgia  I" 

"  Well,  sir." 

**  Promise  me  oiie  thing.** 


IM 


**  COMORO    EVENTS    OABT 


"  What  is  it,  first  r 

'<  That  you  will  stadj  very  hard  till  I  come  back  next 
winter?" 

'^  Of  coarse  I  will,  sir.  I  made  that  promise  once  be- 
fore." 

"  Indeed  ?    To  whom  ?    Miss  Jerusha  ?" 

"  Miss  Jerusha  1"  said  Georgia,  laughing.  '<  I  guess 
not !    To  a  friend  of  mine — a  young  gentleman." 

And  the  girl  of  fifteen  glanced  up  from  under  her  long 
lashes  at  the  dignified  man  of  forty. 

<*  Pooh,  Georgia  I  stick  to  your  books,  and  never  mind 
the  genu*  homo.  You're  a  pretty  subject  to  be  advised  by 
young  gentlemen.  It  was  good  advice,  though,  and  I 
indorse  it." 

"  Very  well,  sir ;  but  why  am  I  to  attend  to  my  studies 
more  than  any  of  the  rest  of  your  pupils — ^Mary  Ann  Jones, 
for  instance  ?" 

<*  Humph  I  there  is  a  wide  difference.  Mary  Ann  Jones 
will  go  home  and  help  her  mother  to  knit  stockings,  scrub 
the  floor,  make  pumpkin  pies,  and  eat  them,  too,  without 
even  a  thought  of  mischief,  while  you  would  be  breaking 
your  neck  or  somebody  else's,  setting  the  iron  on  fire,  or 
bottling  thunderbolts  to  blow  up  the  community  generally. 
As  there  is  more  truth  than  poetry  in  that  couplet  of  tht 
solemn  and  prosy  Dr.  Watts,  wherein  he  assures  as«- 

**  *  Satan  finds  some  mischief  still 
For  idle  hands  to  do,' 


on  that  principle  you  need  to  be  kept  busy.  Between  yon 
and  Mary  Ann  Jones  there  is  about  as  much  difference  as  there 
is  between  that  useful  domestic  fowl,  a  barnyard  goose, 


TEEIR    SHAD0W3    BEFORE." 


12. 


and  that  dangerous,  sharp-clawed,  good-for-nothing  thing, 
a  tameless  mountain  eaglet ;  and  you  may  consider  the 
comparison  anything  but  complimentary  to  you.  Mary 
Ann  is  going  xo  be  a  merry,  contented,  capital  housekeeper, 
and  you — what  are  you  going  to  be  ?" 

"A  vagabones  on  the  face  of  the  airth,"  said  Georgia, 
imitating  Miss  Jerusha's  nasal  twang  so  well  that  it  nearly 
o  erset  the  good  teacher's  gravity. 

"  Ah,  <3reorgia  1 1  see  you  are  in  one  of  your  wild  moods 
(•-day,  and  will  not  listen  to  reason.  Well,  good-by — be  a 
good  girl  till  I  come  back.'' 

'<  6ood-by,  sir.  I  don't  think  I  will  ever  be  a  good  girl, 
but  I  will  be  as  good  as  I  can.    Good-by,  and  thank  you. 


»> 


sir. 

There  was  something  so  darkly  earnest  in  her  face,  that 
Mr.  Coleman  looked  after  her,  more  puzzled  than  he  had 
ever  before  been  by  a  pupil.  She  had  always  been  an 
enigma  to  him — she  was  to  most  people— and  to  day  she 
was  more  unreadable  than  ever. 

<*  I  declare  to  skreech,  Georgy  !"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  as 
they  walked  home  together,  *'  you  like  to  skeered  the  life 
out  o'  me  to-day,  the  way  you  talked  and  shouted.  Clare 
to  gracious  I  ef  it  wasn't  parfectly  orful,  not  to  say  down- 
right wicked.  Talk  about  scaim'  heaven  I  there's  sense  for 
you  now !  And  it's  not  only  sinful,  as  Deacon  Brown 
remarked,  but  reglir  onpossible.  Where  could  a  ladder, 
now,  or  even  a  fire  escape  be  got,  long  enough  to  do  it  ? 
Pah  I  it's  disgustin',  such  nonsense !  I  wonder  a  man  ^ike 
that  there  Mr.  Coleman  would  'low  of  sich  talk  in  his  school 
has,  it's  rale  disgraceful—that's  what  it  is  !'* 

Georgia  laughed.  Georgia  was  more  patient  with  Mist 
Jemsha  than  she  used  to  be,  and  had  her  hot  temper  mors 


I 


I 


isa 


*' COMING    EVENTS    CAST 


f  ■ 


'm 


!'1 


llcS 


under  control.  This  was  in  a  great  measure  ow  ng  to  th« 
instractions  and  gentle  exhortations  of  good  Mrs.  Murray, 
little  Emily's  mother,  who  had  taught  her  that  instead  of 
conferring  a  favo:  on  the  old  maid  by  living  with  L^r,  she 
owed  her  a  debt  of  gratitude  she  would  find  it  difficult  to 
repay.  And  Georgia,  whose  faults  were  more  of  the  head 
than  of  the  heart,  saw  Mrs.  Murray  was  right,  and  consented 
to  try  and  **  behave  herself "  for  the  future  Georgia 
found  «e{/^-control  a  very  difficult  lesson  to  practice ;  and  the 
impulses  of  her  nature  very  often  rose  and  mastered  her 
good  resolutions  yet.  StiH  it  was  something  for  her  even 
to  try,  and  it  had  such  an  effect  on  Miss  Jerusha,  that  the 
vinegar  in  that  sour  spinster's  composition  became  percept- 
ibly less  acid,  and  the  ward  and  "  dragon  "  got  along  much 
better  than  formerly.  So  true  it  is  that  every  effort  to  do 
good  is  rewarded  even  here. 

When  Georgia  got  home  she  found  her  friend  Emily 
Murray  awaiting  her.  Despite  the  wide  difference  in  their 
dispositions  Emily  and  Georgia  were  still  fast  friends. 
Emily  did  not  go  to  the  public  school,  but  was  taught  at 
home  by  her  mother.  But  they  saw  each  other  every  day, 
and  Emily's  sunny  disposition  helped  not  a  little  to  soften 
down  our  savage  little  wildcat  into  her  present  state  of 
comparative  civilization.  Still  the  same  rounded  little 
lady  was  Emily,  perhaps  an  inch  or  two  higher  than  when 
thirteen  years  old,  but  still  nothing  to  speak  of,  with  the 
same  smiling,  rosy,  sunshiny  little  face  peeping  out  from 
its  wealth  of  tangled  yellow  curls — for  Emily's  hair  would 
persist  in  curling  in  spite  of  all  attemps  to  comb  it  straight 
and  respectable  looking,  and  persisted  in  having  its  own 
way,  and  openly  rebelling  against  all  established  authority. 

"Oh,   Georgia  I     Fm  so    glad  !"    exclaimed    Emily, 


THEIR    SHADOWS   BEFORS. 


188 


to  thi 
!urray, 
;ead  of 
*tr,  she 
cult  to 

head 
isenlcd 
eorgia 
nd  the 
ed  her 
iv  even 
lat  the 
ercept- 
y  much 

to  do 


Emily 
in  their 
friends, 
jght  at 
ry  day, 
>  soften 
itate  of 
i  little 
n  when 
ith  the 
it  from 
r  would 
itraight 
its  own 
thority. 
Emily, 


throwing  ner  arms  around  Georgia's  neck,  and  administer^ 
ing  a  doz  en  or  two  short,  sharp  little  kisses  that  went  off 
like  the  corks  out  of  so  many  ginger-beer  bottles.  "  Tm 
ever  so  glad  that  you  got  all  the  prizes  !  I  knew  you 
would  ;  I  said  it  all  along.  I  knew  ycu  were  dreadfully 
clever,  if  you  only  liked.  And  now  I  want  you  to  come 
right  over  to  our  house  and  spend  the  evening  with  us. 
Mother  told  me  to  come  for  you.  Oh,  Georgia  !  we'll  have 
a  good  time  !" 

"  Well,  there,  Em,  you  needn't  strangle  me  about  it,'* 
said  Georgia,  laughingly  releasing  herself.  *'  If  MIm 
Jemsha  doesn't  want  me  particularly,  I'll  go." 

Two  years  previously  Georgia  would  no  more  have 
thought  of  asking  Miss  Jerusha's  leave  about  any  thing 
than  she  would  of  flying;  but  since  she  had  come  to  a 
sense  of  her  duty  things  were  different.  But  as  the  leopard 
cannot  change  his  spots,  nor  the  Ethiope  hit}  skin,  so 
neither  could  she  entirely  change  her  nature,  and  there 
was  an  involuntary  defiant  light  in  her  eye  and  haughtiness 
in  her  tone  when  asking  a  favor,  and  a  fierce  bright  flash 
and  passionate  gesture  when  refused. 

Miss  Jerusha  looked  undecided,  and  was  beginning  a 
dubious  "  Wal,  rally,  now — "  when  Emily's  impulsive 
armi  were  around  Aer  neck,  and  her  pretty  face  upturned. 

**  Ah,  now.  Miss  Jerusha,  please  do;  that's  a  dear  I  !>« 
just  let  her  come  over  this  once.  I  want  her  so  dreadfully ! 
P-p-please  now." 

No  heart,  unless  made  of  double-refined  cast  iron,  eeuld 
resist  that  sweet  little  face  and  pleading  "  please  now  ;" 
so  Miss  Jerusha,  who  liked  little  Emily  (as  indeed  nobody 
oonld  help  doing),  accordingly  "  pleased,"  and  Emily,  giving 
oer  a  kiss— -of  which  commodity  *>hat  small  individual  had 


■■  I'l 


i 


IM 


COMIKG    EVENTS    CAST 


a  large  Bteck  in  trade,  that  like  the  widow's  crnse  of  oUl, 
never  diminished — put  on  Georgia's  hat,  and,  nodding  a 
smiling  good-by  to  Miss  Jerusha,  marched  her  off  in 
triumph. 

''  I  am  so  glad,  Georgia,  yon  got  so  many  prizes.  Oh  I 
I  knew  all  along  you  were  real  clever.  I  should  like  to  be 
clever,  but  I'm  not  one  bit ;  but  you,  I  guess  you're  going 
to  be  a  genius,  Georgia,"  said  Emily,  soberly. 

<<  Nonsense,  Em  !  A  genius !  I  hope  I  shall  never  b« 
anything  half  so  dreadful." 

"  Dreadful  I     Why,  Georgia  !" 

"  Why,  Emily  !"  said  Georgia,  mimicking  her,  "  gen- 
iuses are  a  nuisance,  I  repeat — just  as  comets,  or  meteors, 
or  eclipses,  or  anything  out  of  the  ordinary  course  are. 
People  make  a  fuss  about  them  and  blacken  their  noses 
looking  through  smoked  glass  at  them,  and  then  they  are 
gone  in  a  twinkling,  and  not  worth  all  the  time  that  was 
wasted  looking  at  them.  I  know  it  is  sacrilege  and  high 
treason  to  say  so,  but  that  doesn't  alter  my  opinion  on  the 
subject,  and  so  don't  trouble  that  small,  anxious  head  of 
yours,  my  dear  little  snow-flake,  about  my  being  a  geniai 
again." 

<<  I  know  who  thinks  so  as  well  as  I  do,"  said  Emily. 

"Who?" 

"  Why,  Richmond  Wildair.  Do  you  recollect  the  day, 
long  ago,  he  first  told  you  to  go  to  school  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Coming  home  that  day  he  said  he  knew  you  were  t 
little  genius  and  should  not  hide  your  light  under  a  bushel, 
but  set  it  on  the  hill-top.  I  remember  his  words,  because 
they  sounded  so  funny  then  that  they  made  me  kagh." 

^  Pooh  I  what  does  he  know  about  it  ?    What  a  little 


of  eia, 

adding  a 
off  in 

IS.  Oh  I 
ike  to  be 
re  going 

neyer  b« 


r,  "gen- 
meteors, 
irse  are. 
3ir  noses 
they  are 
that  was 
•nd  high 
m  on  the 
head  of 
a  genial 


TSEIR    SHADOWS    BEFORB.'* 


IK 


simpleton  I  must  have  been  to  do  everything  he  nsed  to  t«U 
me  to  !  Still,  that  was  good  advice  about  going  to  school, 
and  I  don't  know  but  what,  on  the  whole,  I  feel  grateful  to 
him  for  it.  That  was  two  years  ago — wasn't  it,  Em? 
Why,  it  seems  like  yesterday." 

"  And  that  funny  brother  of  his,"  said  Emily,  laughing 
at  some  recollections  of  her  own,  "  he  used  to  say  things  in 
such  a  droll  way,     I  wonder  if  they'll  ever  come  back." 

"  Why,  what  would  bring  them  back,  now  that  their 
uncle  is  gone  away  for  his  health  ?  I  wonder  if  traveling 
really  does  make  sick  people  well  ?" 

**  Don't  know,  I'm  sure.  Isn't  it  a  pity  to  have  such  t 
nice  house  as  that  shut  up  and  so  lonely  and  deserted  look- 
ing  ?" 

"  I  wish  that  house  was  mine,"  said  Georgia.  *'  I  should 
like  to  live  in  a  large,  handsome  place  like  that.  I  hat« 
little  old  cramped  places  like  our  cottage — they're  horrid." 

*  Why,  that's  coveting  your  neighbor's  goods,"  said 
Emily.     "  Look  out,  Georgia." 

**  Well,  then,  I  should  like  one  as  good  as  that.  I  wish 
I  owned  one  just  like  it.  I  shall,  too,  some  day,"  said 
Georgia,  decidedly. 

**  Do  tell,"  said  Emily,  <*  where  are  you  going  to  get  it^ 
Are  you  going  to  rob  a  peddler  ?* 

"  No.    I  intend  to  be  rich." 

"Toudo?  Mawr 

*'I  don't  know  yet ;  but  I  $htUl/  I'm  determined  to  be 
rich  I  am  quite  sure  I  will  be,"  said  Georgia,  in  a  tone  of 
qniet  decision. 

<<  Well,  really  !  But  it's  better  to  be  poor  than  rieh. 
'It's  easier  for  a  camel—'  You  know  what  the  TeatameBt 
iayi.** 


I 

! 


E 


V 


1  ■ 


m 


196 


'*  COMING    EVENTS    CAST 


"I'd  risk  it.  Why,  Emily,  it's  riches  moves  the  world  ; 
the  whole  earth  is  seeking  it.  Poverty  is  the  greatest  social 
crime  in  the  whole  category,  and  wealth  covereth  a  multi- 
tude of  sins.  Don't  tell  me  !  I  know  all  about  it,  and  I  am 
determined  to  be  rich — IdonH  care  by  what  means  /" 

Her  wild  eyes  were  blazing  with  that  insufferable  light 
that  always  illuminated  them  when  she  was  excited,  and 
the  stern  determination  her  set  face  expressed  as  she  looked 
resolutely  before  her  startled  timid  little  Emily. 

"  Oh,  Georgia,  I  don't  think  it's  right  to  talk  so  !"  she 
said,  in  a  subdued  tone  ;  I'm  sure  it's  not.  I  don't  think 
riches  make  people  happy  ;  do  you  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Georgia,  quietly. 

"  Oh,  Georgia,  then  why  do  you  wish  for  it  ?  Why  do 
you  crave  so  for  wealth  ?" 

"  Because  wealth  brings  power  I" 

"  But  neither  does  power  bring  happiness." 

"To  me  it  would.  Power  is  the  life  of  my  life. 
Knowledge  is  power — therefore  I  studied  ;  but  it  is  only  a 
means  to  an  end.  Wealth  will  attain  that  end,  therefore 
wealth  I  must  and  will  have." 

The  look  of  resolute  determination  deepened.  She 
looked  at  that  moment  like  one  resolved  to  conquer  even 
fate,  and  to  tread  remorselessly  under  foot  all  that  stood 
between  her  and  the  goal  of  her  daring  ambition. 

"What  would  you  do  if  you  were  rich  ?" 

"I  would  travel,  for  one  thing — I  should  like  to  see  the 
world.  I  would  visit  England,  and  France,  and  Germany, 
and  Italy— dear,  beautiful  Italy  I  that  I  love  as  if  it  were 
my  fatherland.  I  would  visit  the  Alps — Oh,  Em  !  how  I 
love  great  sublime  mountains  rearing  their  heads  up  to 
heaven.     I  would  sail  down  the  Rhine,  the  bright  flowing 


«ts 


THEIR    SHADOWS   BEPORB.*' 


137 


Rhine  !  I  would  visit  the  demons  of  the  Black  Foiast,  and 
Bee  if  I  happen  to  be  related  to  them,  in  any  way.  1  would 
cultivate  the  acquaintance  of  the  Black  Horseman  of  the 
Hartz  Mountains — and  finally  I  should  settle  down  and 
marry  a  prince.  Yes,  I  rather  think  I  shall  marry  some 
prince,  Era  !" 

"  Oh,  Georgia  I  you're  a  case  1"  said  Emily,  breaking 
into  one  of  her  silvery  peals  of  laughter  ;  "  marry  a  prince ! 
what  an  idea  I" 

"  Well,  I  am  good  enough  for  any  prince  or  emperor 
that  ever  wore  a  crown,"  said  Georgia,  with  a  flash  of  her 
black  eyes,  and  a  proud  lift  of  her  haughty  little  head,  "  and 
I  should  consider  that  the  honor  was  conferred  upon  him, 
and  not  me,  if  I  did  marry  one — now  then  !" 

"  Oh,  what  a  bump  of  self-esteem  you  have,  Georgia  1" 
said  Emily,  still  laughing  ;  "  what  a  notion  to  talk  about 
getting  married,  any  way  !  whoever  heard  of  such  a  thing." 

"  Well,  it's  nothing  strange  I  you  didn't  suppose  I  was 
going  to  be  an  old  maid  like  Miss  Jerusha,  did  you  ?  0/ 
course  I'll  get  married  !  I  always  intended  to !"  said 
Georgia,  decidedly,  "  and  so  will  you,  Emily." 

"  To  another  prince,"  said  Emily,  shyly. 
No,  to— Charley  Wildair  !" 

I  guess  not  I  But  here  we  are  at  home,  and  what 
would  mother  say  if  she  heard  us  talking  like  this?  It  aU 
comes  of  your  reading  so  many  novels,  Georgia.  Here, 
mother ;  here  she  is.  I've  got  her,"  cried  Emily,  flying  mio 
the  pretty  little  parlor,  where  Mrs.  Murray,  a  pleasant  little 
lady,  a  faded  copy  of  her  bright  little  daughter,  sat  sewing. 
Mrs.  Murray  kissed  Georgia,  and  congratulated  her  on  her 
■uocess,  and  then  went  out  to  see  about  tea. 

Later  in  the  evening  Father  Murray,  a  benign-lookinf 


(( 


<( 


I 


f    ! 


(■ 

:•■! 

f- 

.    r 

1    * 

;•■' 

■.:>,  ; 

?■*  • 

1  i: 

128 


**  COMING    EVENTS.'* 


old  man,  with  silver-white  hair,  and  a  look  so  patriarohal 
that  it  had  suggested  Charley  Wildair's  graphic  description 
of  his  being  like  one  of  those  "  blessed  old  what^s-their-names 
in  the  Bible/'  came  in,  and  the  conversation  turned  upon 
Georgia's  success. 

"  I  suppose  you  felt  quite  elated,  Georgia,  at  carrying  off 
the  highest  honors  to-day  ?''  he  said,  smiling. 

"  A  little,  only,"  said  Georgia.  "  It  wasn't  much  to  be 
proud  of." 

*'  What !  To  vanquish  all  competitors  not  much  to  be 
proud  of  I     Why,  Georgia  ?" 

"  Well,  neither  it  is,  sir — such  competitors,"  said  Geor- 
gia, scornfully.  <<  I  should  like  a  greater  conquest  than 
that." 

"  Georgia's  ambition  takes  a  bolder  flight ;  she  looks 
down  on  the  common  people  of  this  world,"  said  Mrs. 
Murray,  with  a  peculiar  smile. 

Georgia  colored  at  the  implied  rebuke,  but  her  disdain- 
ful look  remained.  Father  Murray  looked  at  her  half 
pityingly,  half  sorrowfully. 

"  It  will  not  do,  Georgia,"  he  said  kindly  :  "  you  will 
have  to  stop.  The  Mountain  of  High-and-Mighty-dom  is  a 
very  dazzling  eminence  to  be  sure,  but  the  sun  shines 
brighter  in  the  valley  below." 

At  that  moment  Fly  entered  for  her  young  mistress,  and 
Georgia  arose  to  go. 

"  Good-by,  Mrs.  Murray  ;  good-by,  Em  ;  good-night, 
Father  Murray." 

'*  Good-night,  Georgia,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  hef 
shining,  haughty  young  head, "  and  Heaven  bless  you,  my 
child  1" 

SShe  folded  her  hands  almost  meekly  to  receive  his  bene^ 


OLD    FRIENDS    MEET. 


110 


diction,  and   feeling  as  though  that  blessing   were  sorely 
needed,  she  passed  out  and  was  gone. 

Gone  I  As  for  you  and  me,  reader,  the  child  Georgia 
has  gone  forever.  Let  the  curtain  drop  on  the  first  act  in 
her  drama  of  life,  to  rise  when  the  child  shall  be  a  woman. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


i\ 


OLD  FRIENDS  MSR. 

**  It  was  not  thus  in  other  days  we  met ; 
Hath  time  and  absence  taught  thee  to  forget  f 

|ND  three  years  passed  away. 

Elsewhere  these  three  years  might  have 
wrought  strange  changes,  but  they  made  few 
in  good  old  Burnfield.  The  old,  never-ending, 
but  ever  new  routine  of  births,  and  deaths,  and  marriages 
went  on  ;  children  were  growing  up  to  be  men  and  women 
— there  were  no  young  ladies  and  gentlemen  in  Burnfield — 
and  other  children  were  taking  their  place.  The  only 
marked  change  was  the  introduction  of  a  railway,  that 
brought  city  people  to  the  quiet  sea-coast  town  every  sum- 
mer, and  gave  a  sort  of  impetus  to  the  stagnating  business 
of  the  place.  Very  dazzling  and  bewildering  to  the  eyes 
of  the  sober-going  Burnfieldians  were  those  dashing  city 
folks,  who  condescended  to  patronize  them  with  a  lofty 
superiority  quite  overwhelming. 

One  other  cnange  these  three  years  had  wrought — the 
girl  Georgia  was  a  woman  in  looks  and  stature,  the  hand- 
some, haughty,  capnoious  belle  of  Burnfield.    Time  had 


180 


OLD    FBIEND8    MBBT. 


1^' 


passed  unmarked  by  any  incident  worth  mentiouiiig.  Lift 
was  rather  monotonous  in  that  little  sea-shore  cottage,  and 
Georgia  might  have  stagnated  with  the  rest  but  for  the 
fiery  life  in  her  heart  that  would  never  be  at  rest  long 
enough  to  suffer  her  to  fall  into  a  lethargy. 

Georgia's  physical  and  mental  education  had  been  rap- 
idly progressing  during  these  three  years.  She  could  man* 
age  a  boat  with  the  best  oarsman  in  Burnfield  ;  and  often, 
when  the  winds  were  highest  and  the  sea  roughest,  her 
light  skiff — a  gift  from  an  admirer — might  be  seen  dancing 
on  the  waters  like  a  sea-gull,  with  the  tall,  slight  form  of  a 
young  ^*rl  guiding  it  through  the  foam,  her  wild  black 
eyes  lit  up  with  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  looking 
like  some  ocean  goddess,  or  the  queen  of  the  storm  riding 
the  tempest  she  had  herself  raised. 

Georgia  braved  all  dangers  because  they  brought  her 
excitement,  and  she  would  have  lived  in  a  constant  fever  if 
she  could  ;  danger  sent  the  hot  blood  bounding  through  her 
veins  like  quicksilver,  and  fear  was  a  feeling  unknown  to 
her  high  and  daring  temperament.  So  when  the  typhus 
fever  once,  a  year  previously,  raged  through  the  town, 
carrying  off  hundreds,  and  every  one  fled  in  torror,  she 
braved  it  all,  entered  every  house  where  it  appeared  in  its 
most  malignant  form,  braved  storm,  and  night,  and  danger 
to  nurse  the  pest-stricken,  and  became  the  guardian-angel 
of  the  town.  And  this — not,  reader,  from  any  high  and 
holy  motive,  not  from  that  heavenly  charity,  that  inspires 
the  heroic  Sister  of  Charity  to  do  likewise — ^but  simply 
because  there  was  excitement  in  it,  because  she  was  fearless 
for  herself  and  exulted  in  her  power  at  that  moment,  and 
perhaps,  to  do  Georgia  justice,  she  was  urged  by  a  humane 
feeling  of  pity  for  the  neglected  sufferers.    Bhe  watched  by 


OLL    FRIENDS    MEET. 


181 


Uff 

and 

the 

long 


the  dead  and  dying,  sht  boldly  entered  l.izar  jouses  ^f  ».ere 
no  one  else  would  tread,  and  sbo  did  not  take  the  disease. 
Her  high,  perfect  bodily  health,  her  fine  organization  and 
utter  fearlessness,  were  her  safeguardH.  Georgia  had 
already  obtained  a  sort  of  mastery  over  the  townfolks  ; 
that  deference  was  paid  to  her  that  simple  minds  always 
pay  to  lofty  ones;  but  now  her  power  was  complete.  She 
reigned  among  them  a  crowned  queen  ;  the  dark-eyed, 
handsome  girl  had  obtained  a  mastery  over  them  she  could 
never  lose  ;  she  had  only  to  raise  her  finger  to  have  them 
come  at  her  beck  ;  she  was  beginning  to  realize  her  childish 
dream  of  power,  and  she  triumphed  in  it.  And  so,  free, 
wHd,  glad,  and  untamed,  the  young  conqueress  reigned, 
queen  of  the  forest  and  river,  and  a  thousand  human 
hearts  ;  looked  up  to,  as  comets  are — something  to  admire 
and  wonder  at,  at  a  respectful  distance. 

Under  the  auspices  of  Father  Murray  her  education  had 
progressed  rapidly.  As  his  congregation  was  not  very 
numerous,  his  labors  were  not  very  arduous,  and  he  found 
a  good  deal  of  spare  time  for  himself.  Being  a  profound 
scholar,  he  determined  to  devote  himself  to  the  education 
of  his  little  niece  Emily,  and  at  her  solicitation  Georgia 
also  became  his  pupil.  Poor,  simple,  happy  little  Emily 
was  speedily  outstripped  and  left  far  behind  by  her  gifted 
companion,  who  mastered  every  science  with  a  rapidity 
and  ease  really  wonderful.  By  nature  she  was  a  decided 
linguist,  and  learned  French,  and  German,  and  Latin  with 
a  quickness  that  delighted  the  heart  of  good  Father  Mux 
ray.  All  the  religious  training  the  wild  girl  had  ever 
received  in  her  life  was  imbibed  now,  but  even  yet  it  was 
only  superficial;  it  just  touched  the  surface  of  her  spark- 
ling nature,  nothing  si  ak  in.     She  professed  no  particulai 


i'\ 


I; 


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I 


p. 


i 


IM 


OLD    FMlMJnm   MEET, 


i  '< 


11 


faith;  sbe  believed  in  no  formal  creed;  slitt  worshiped  tlM 
Lord  of  the  mighty  sea  and  the  beautifal  earth,  the  mierof 
the  storm  and  king  of  the  universe,  in  a  wild,  strange,  ex- 
ultant way  of  her  own,  but  she  looked  upon  all  professed 
creeds  as  so  many  trammels  that  no  one  with  an  independ- 
ent will  could  ever  submit  to.  Ah  t  it  was  Georgia's  hour 
of  highest  earthly  happiness  then;  she  did  not  know  ho?) 
the  heart  of  all  atheists,  infidels,  and  heretics  cry  cut  invsl- 
untarily  to  that  merciful  All  Father  in  their  hour  of  sor* 
row.  Georgia  was  as  one  who  "  having  eyes  saw  not, 
having  ears  heard  not."  In  the  summer  time  of  youth, 
and  health,  and  happiness  she  would  not  believe,  and  it  was 
only  like  many  others  when  the  fierce  wintry  tempest  beat 
on  her  unsheltered  head,  when  the  dark  night  of  utter  an- 
guish closed  around  her,  she  fell  at  the  feet  of  Him  who 
"  doeth  all  things  well,"  offering  not  a  fresh,  unworldly 
heart,  but  one  crushed,  and  rent,  and  consumed  to  calcined 
ashes  in  the  red  heat  of  her  own  fiery  passions. 

Georgia  rarely  went  to  church;  her  place  of  worship 
was  the  dark  solemn,  old  primeval  forest,  where,  lying 
under  the  trees,  listening  to  the  drowsy  twittering  of  the 
birds  for  her  choir,  she  would  dream  her  wild,  rainbow- 
tinted  vissions  of  a  future  more  glorious  than  this  earth 

ever  realized.    Ah  !  the  dreams  of  eighteen  I 

•  i»  «  •  « 

It  was  a  wild,  blusterous  afternoon  in  early  spring,  ■ 
dark,  dry,  windy  day.  Miss  Jerusha,  the  same  old  cast- 
iron  vestal  as  of  yore,  sat  in  the  best  room,  knitting  away, 
just  as  you  and  I,  reader,  first  saw  her  on  Christmas  Eve 
five  years  ago,  just  looking  as  if  five  minutes  instead  of 
years  had  passed  since  then,  so  little  change  is  there  in  her 
own  proper  person  or  in  that  awe-inspiring  apartmeot^  the 


OLD    FRIENDS    MKBT. 


186 


bMt  room.  The  asthmatio  rock'mg-ohair  iMnif  to  hare 
b«en  attacked  with  rheumatism  since,  for  its  limbs  ar« 
decidedly  of  a  shaky  character,  and  its  consumptive  wheeie, 
as  it  siNVa  back  or  forward,  betokens  that  its  end  ii 
approaching.  Curled  up  at  her  feet  lies  that  intelligent 
q\iadrnped,  Betsey  Periwinkle,  gazing  with  blinking  eyes 
m  *ihe  fire,  and  deeply  absorbed  in  her  own  reflections.  A 
facetiout*  little  gray-and-white  kitten  (Betsey's  youngest), 
is  amusing  itself  running  round  and  round  in  a  frantio 
effort  to  catch  its  own  little  shaving-brush  of  a  tail,  vary- 
ing the  recreation  by  making  desperate  dives  at  Miss  Jeru- 
«ha*8  ball  of  stocking  yarn,  and  invariably  receives  a  kick 
in  return  that  sends  it  flying  across  the  room,  but  wliich 
doesn't  seem  to  disturb  its  equanimity  much.  Oat  in  the 
kitchen  that  small  **  cullud  pusson,"  Fly,  is  making  biscuits 
for  supper,  and  diffusing  around  her  a  most  delightful  odor 
of  good  things.  Miss  Jerusha  sits  silently  knitting  for  a 
long  time  with  pursed-up  lips,  only  glancing  up  now  and 
then  whea  an  unusually  high  blast  makes  the  little  home- 
stead  shake,  but  at  last  the  spirit  moves  her,  and  she  speaks : 

"  It's  abominable !  it's  disgraceful !  the  neglect  of  par- 
ents nowadays  !  letting  their  young  'uns  run  mto  all  sorts 
of  danger,  and  without  no  insurance  on  'em  neither.  If 
that  there  little  chap  was  mine,  I'd  switch  him  within  »q 
inch  of  his  life  afore  I'd  let  him  carry  on  with  such  capen. 
He'll  be  drowned  just  as  sure  as  shootin',  and  sarve  him 
right,  too,  a  venturesome,  fool-hardy  little  limb !  You, 
Fly  I" 

Miss  Jerusha's  voice  has  lost  none  of  its  shrillness  aii4 
sharpness  under  the  mollifying  influence  of  Old  Father 
Time. 

"  Yes.  Mist,**  sings  out  Fly,  in  a  shrill  treble. 


1 

T 

r 

ff" 

1  : 

i 

1 

\ 

f'i- 


f- 


t-ii 


IM 


OLD    FRIENDS   MEET. 


**  Ken  you  see  that  little  viper  yet,  or  h&s  he  got  drowii> 
ded?" 

**  He's  a-driftin'  out'n  de  riber,  ole  Mist ;  shill  I  run  and 
tell  his  folks  when  I  puts  der  biscuits  in  de  oben  ?"'  saya 
Fly,  straining  her  eyes  looking  out  of  the  kitchen  window. 

"  To,  you  sha'n't  do  no  sich  thing  I  if  his  folks  don't 
lb  ink  he's  worth  a-lookin'  arter  thimselves,  I  ain't  a-goin' 
to  pui  rayself  out  noways  'bout  it.  Let  him  drown,  ef  he's 
a  mind  to,  and  perhaps  they'll  look  closer  arter  the  rest.  A 
young  'un  more  or  less  ain't  no  great  loss.  Don't  let  them 
ere  biscuits  burn,  you  Fly  !  or  it'll  be  wuss  for  you  I  I  wish 
Georgia  was  here  ;  it's  time  she  was  to  hum." 

"  Quand  tin  parte  du  diable  on  en  voit  le  vue  /"  says  a 
clear,  musical  voice,  and  the  present  Georgia,  a  tall,  superb- 
ly formed  girl,  with  the  shining  eyes,  and  glossy  hair  of  her 
childhood,  but  with  a  higher  bloom  and  brighter  smile  than 
that  tempestuous  childhood  ever  knew,  enters  and  stands 
before  her,  her  dark  hair  blown  out  by  the  wind  that  has 
sent  a  deeper  glow  to  her  dark  crimson  cheeks,  and  a  more 
vivid  light  to  her  splendid  eyes. 

"  Oh,  you've  come,  hev  you  ?"  says  Miss  Jerusha,  rather 
crossly,  "  and  a  talkin'  of  Hebrew  and  Greek,  and  sich 
other  ungodly  lingo,  again.  It's  suthin'  bad,  I  know,  or 
you  wouldn't  be  a  sayin'  of  it  in  thim  onchristian  langer- 
gers.  I  allurs  said  nothin'  good  would  come  of  your  heav- 
in'  away  of  your  time  and  larning  thim.  I  know  it  ain't 
right ;  don't  sound  as  if  it  war.  I  feel  it  in  my  bones  that 
it  ain't.     Where  hev  you  bin  ?" 

"  Over  to  Emily's,"  Georgia  said,  laughingly,  as  she 
snatched  up  Betsey  Periwinkle,  junior,  and  stroked  her  soft 
far.     "  What  did  you  want  me  for  when  I  came  in  ?" 

**  Oh,"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  "  it's  all  along  of  that  little 


OLD    FRIENDS    MEET, 


1S5 


imp,  JohLDj  Smith,  as  has  been  and  gone  and  went  ont  in  a 
boat,  and  I  expect  is  upsot  and  gone  to  the  bottom  »for« 
this." 

Georgia  sprang  to  her  feet  in  consternation. 

"  What !  gone  out  in  a  boat !  to-day  !  that  child  I  Misi 
Jerusha,  T^hat  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Why,  just  what  I  say,"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  testily ; 
"  that  there  little  cuss  has  a  taste  for  drowndin\  for  he^s 
never  out  of  a  boat  when  he  can  get  into  one,  and  I  do 
b'lieve  it's  more'n  half  your  fault,  too,  abringing  of  him  out 
with  you  every  day  in  your  derned  little  egg-shell  of  a 
skiff.  £f  he  hain't  got  to  the  bottom  before  this  it's  a 
wonder." 

'<  Oh,  that  child  !  that  child  !  he  will  be  drowned  I  Good 
Heaven,  Miss  Jernsha,  why  did  you  not  send  and  tell  his 
parents  ?" 

"  Well,  'taint  my  place  to  look  arter  other  folks*  young 
'uns,  is  it  ?"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  shifting  uneasily  under  the 
stern,  indignant  gaze  bent  upon  her.  '*  Let  every  tub  stand 
on  its  own  bottom,  Z say." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Georgia  I  Miss  Georgia  I"  cried  Fly,  ezcit* 
edly,  "  dar  he  is  I  run  right  into  dat  ar  rock  out'n  de  riber, 
an'  now  he  can't  get  off,  an'  de  tide  is  a  risin'  so  fast  he'll 
be  swep'  off  pooty  soon." 

Georgia  sprang  to  the  window  and  looked  out.  The 
river,  swollen  and  turbid  by  the  spring  freshets,  and  lashed 
into  fury  by  the  high  winds,  was  one  sheet  of  white  foam, 
like  the  land  in  a  December  snow-storm.  The  boat  had 
■truck  a  high  rock,  or  rather  small  island,  out  in  the  river, 
and  there  stood  a  lad  of  about  ten  years  old  wvth  out 
stretched  arras,  evidently  shrieking  for  help;  but  his  criei 
were  drowned  in  the  uproar  of  the  winds  and  waves.     Ld 


i 


116 


OLD    FRIENDS   MEET. 


teu  minutes  it  was  evident  tbe  nea  would  sweep  over  the 
rock,  and  then 

Georgia  with  a  wild,  frenzied  gesture,  turn#d  and  fled 
from  the  house,  seized  two  light  oars  that  lay  outside  the 
door,  threw  them  over  her  shoulder,  and  sped  with  the 
lightness  and  fleetness  of  a  mountain  deer  Jown  the  rocks 
to  the  beach. 

'*  Oh,  Miss  Jerry  I  Miss  Jerry  I  she's  a-goin'  arter  him," 
shrieked  Fly.  "Oh,  laudy  1  dey'U  bof  be  drowned  dead! 
Oh  !  Oh  1  Oh  I"  And  shrieking,  Fly  rushed  out  and 
darted  off  toward  the  nearest  house  to  tell  the  news. 

New  settlers  had  Irately  come  to  Burnfield,  and  Miss 
Jerusha's  nearest  neighbors,  the  parents  of  the  venturesome 
little  So'ith,  lived  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  her. 
Mercury  himself  was  not  a  fleeter  messenger  than  Fly, 
and  soon  the  Smiths  and  other  people  around  were  alarmed 
and  hurrying  in  crowds  to  the  beach.  As  Fly,  still  scream- 
ing out  the  news,  was  darting  hither  and  thither,  a  hand 
was  laid  on  her  arm,  and  looking  up,  she  saw  a  gentleman, 
young  and  handsome,  muffled  in  a  Spanish  cloak,  and 
with  his  hut  pulled  down  over  his  eyes. 

"  What's  all  this  uproar  about,  my  good  girl  ?  Whers 
are  all  these  people  hurrying  to  ?"  he  asked,  arresting  her. 

"  Oh,  to  der  beach  I  Miss  Georgia  will  be  drowned," 
oried  Fly,  breaking  from  him,  and  darting  off  among  the 
crowd. 

The  stranger  hurried  on  with  the  rest,  and  a  very  few 
minutes  brought  him  to  the  beach,  already  thronged  with 
the  alarmed  neighbors.  Oh  a  high  rock  stood  Miss  Jerusha, 
wringing  her  hands  and  gesticulating  wildly,  and  more 
wildly  urging  the  men  to  go  to  Georgia's  assistance,  going 
through  all  the  phrases  of  the  potential  mood,  "  exhorting, 


OLD    FRIENDS    MEET. 


117 


eommanding,  entreating,"  in  something  after  the  following 
fashion  : 

"  Oh,  she'll  be  drownded  !  sheMl  be  drownded  I  I  know 
she  will,  and  sarve  her  right,  too^a  ventursome,  unditifal 
young  hussy  I  On,  my  gracious  !  what  are  you  all  a-stand- 
ing  here  for,  a-doing  nothing,  and  Georgey  drownding  ?  Go 
right  off  this  minit  and  git  a  boat  and  go  after  her.  There  t 
there  !  she's  down  now  !  No,  she's  up  again,  but  she's 
sartin  to  be  drownded,  the  infernally  young  fool  I  Oh, 
Pete  Jinking !  you  derned  lazy  old  coward  I  get  out  your 
boat  and  go  arter  her  !  Oh,  Pete  I  you're  a  nice  old  man  ! 
do  go  arter  her  I  There  !  now  she's  upsot  !  No,  she's 
right  end  up  ^gin,  but  the  next  time  she  sure  to  go  1  Oh, 
my  conscience  I  won't  none  en  ye  go  arter  her,  you  miserable 
set  of  sneakin'  cowards  you  I  Oh,  my  stars  and  garters  I 
what  a  life  I  lead  long  o'  that  there  derned  young  gal  !'* 

"  There's  no  boat  to  be  had,"  said  "  Pete  Jinking,"  **  and 
if  there  was,  Miss  Georgia's  skiff  would  live  where  a  larger 
one  would  go  down.     If  she  can't  mai>age  it,  no  one  can." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  talk,  talk,  talk  !  git  it  off  your  own  shoulders, 
you  cowardly  old  porpoise,  you  !  afraid  to  venture  where 
a  delikay  young  gal  does.  Oh,  Georgey,  you  blamed 
young  pepper-pod,  wait  till  I  catch  hold  of  you  !"  said  Miss 
Jemsha,  wringing  her  hands  in  the  extremity  of  her  dia* 
tress. 

*'  She  has  reached  him  !  she  has  reached  him  I  TherOi 
she  has  him  in  the  boat !"  cried  the  stranger,  excitedly. 

''  And  she  has  got  him  I  she  has  got  him  !  Hurra  !  hur- 
ra !  hurra  I"  shouted  the  crowd  on  the  shore,  as  Vbey 
breathlessly  shaded  their  eyes  to  gaze  across  the  foaming 
waters. 

Steering  her  light  craft  with  a  master  hand,  Georgia 


\l 


lull 


11      'i 


1 1 


I 


1S8 


PZD    FRIENLS   MEET, 


reached  the  rock  barely  in  time,  for  scarcely  had  the  lad 
leaped  into  the  boat  when  a  huge  wave  swept  over  the 
rocks,  and  not  one  there  but  shuddered  at  the  death  he  had 
io  narrowly  escaped. 

But  the  occupants  of  the  skifF  were  far  from  safe,  and 
a  dead  silence  fell  on  all  as  they  hushed  the  very  beating 
of  their  hearts  to  watch.  She  had  turned  its  head  towards 
the  shore,  and  bending  her  slight  form  to  the  oars,  she 
pulled  vigorously  against  the  dashing  waves.  Now  poised 
and  quivering  on  the  topmost  crest  of  some  large  wave, 
now  sinking  down,  down,  far  down  out  of  sight  until  they 
feared  it  would  never  rise,  yet,  still  re-appearing,  she 
toiled  bravely.  Her  long,  wild,  black  hair,  unbound  by  the 
wind,  streamed  in  the  breeze,  drenched  and  dripping  with 
sea-brine.  On  and  on  toiled  the  brave  girl,  nearer  and 
nearer  to  the  shore  she  came,  until  at  last,  with  a  mighty 
shout,  that  burst  involuntarily  from  their  relieved  hearts,  a 
dozen  strong  hands  were  extended,  caught  the  boat,  and 
pulled  it  far  up  on  the  shore.  And  then  "  Hurrah  I  hur- 
rah I  Hurrah  for  Georgia  !  hurrah  for  Georgia  Darrell  1'* 
burst  from  every  lip,  and  hats  were  waved,  and  the  cheer 
arose  again  and  again,  until  the  welkin  rang,  and  the  crowd 
pressed  around  her,  shaking  hands,  and  congratulating  her, 
and  hemming  her  in,  until,  half  laughing,  ha  impatient, 
ehc  broke  from  them,  exclaiming  : 

"There,  there,  good  folks,  that  will  do — please  let  me 
pass.  Mrs.  Smith,  here  is  your  nau,'_,'hty  little  boy  ;  you 
will  have  to  take  better  care  of  him  ^or  the  future.  Uncle 
Pete,  will  you  just  look  after  my  skiff,  and  bring  those  oars 
up  to  the  house  ?  My  clothes  are  so  heavy  with  the  wet 
that  they  are  as  much  as  I  can  carry.  Now,  Miss  Jerushai 
don^t  begin  to  scold  ;  I  am  not  drowned,  you  see,  so  it  will 


OLD    FRIENDS    MEET. 


189 


be  af.  a  waste  of  ammunition.  Come  along  ,  I  want  to  get 
out  of  this  crowd." 

Fatigued  with  her  exertions,  pale  and  wet,  she  toiled 
wearily  up  the  bank,  very  unlike  herself.  The  stranger, 
muffled  in  his  black  brigandish-looking  c^oak  and  slouched 
hat,  stood  motionless  watching  her,  and  Georgia  glanced 
carelessly  at  him  and  passed  on.  Strangers  were  not  much 
of  a  novelty  in  Burnfield  now,  so  this  young,  distinguished 
looking  gentleman  awoke  no  surprise  until  she  saw  him 
advance  toward  her  with  outstretched  hand.  And  Georgia 
stepped  back  and  glanced  at  him  in  haughty  amaze. 

"  Miss  Darrell,  you  are  a  second  Grace  Darling.  Allow 
me  to  congratulate  you  on  what  you  have  done  to-day." 

"  Sir !" 

"  You  will  not  shake  hands.  Miss  Darrell  ?  And  yet 
we  are  not  strangers." 

"  You  labor  under  a  mistake,  sir  I  I  do  not  know  you  ! 
Will  you  allow  me  to  pass  ?" 

He  stood  straight  before  her,  a  smile  curling  his  mus- 
tached  lip  at  her  regal  hauteur. 

"And  has  five  years,  five  short  years,  completely  oblit- 
erated even  the  memory  of  Richmond  WHdair  ?" 

" Richmond  Wildair  !  Who  was  heV^  she  said,  lifting 
her  eyes  with  cool  indolence,  and  looking  up  straight  into 
the  bronzed,  manly  face,  from  which  the  hat  was  now 
raised.  Oh,  I  recollect  I  How  do  you  do,  sir  ?  Come,  Miss 
Jerusha ;  let  me  help  you  up  the  bank." 

He  stood  for  a  moment  transfixed.  Had  he  expected  to 
meet  the  impulsive  little  girl  he  had  left  ?  Had  he  expected 
this  scornful  yonng  empress,  with  her  chilling  "wAoir««« 

he  r 

She  did  not  notice  his  extended  hand — that  reminded 


i 


m 


140 


OLD    FBIENDS   MEET. 


i 


him  of  the  child  Georgia — ^but,  taking  Misa  Jerusha*s  arm, 
walked  with  her  up  the  path,  the  proad  head  erect,  bat  the 
springing  step  slow  and  labored. 

He  watched  her  a  moment,  and  smiled.  That  smile 
would  have  reminded  Georgia  of  other  days  had  she  seen 
it — a  smile  that  said  as  plainly  as  words  could  speak, 
"  You  shall  pay  for  this,  my  lady  I  You  shall  find  my  power 
has  not  passed  away." 

It  was  a  surprise  to  Georgia,  this  meeting,  and  not  a 
pleasant  one.  She  recollected  how  he  had  mastered  and 
commanded  her  in  her  masterless  childhood — a  recollection 
that  filled  her  with  angry  indignation  ;  a  recollection  that 
made  her  compress  her  lips,  set  her  foot  down  hard,  and 
involuntarily  clinch  the  small  hand  ;  a  recollection  that  sent 
a  bright,  angry  light  to  her  black,  flashing  eyes,  and  a  hot, 
irritated  spot  burning  on  either  cheek  ;  and  the  dark  brows 
knit  as  he  had  often  seen  them  do  before  as  hi  came  reso- 
lutely up  and  stood  on  the  other  side  of  Miss  Jerusha. 

''And  will  yoUj  too,  disown  me.  Miss  Jerusha?"  he  said, 
with  a  look  of  reproach.  Is  Richmond  Wildair  totally  for- 
gotten by  all  his  old  friends  in  Bumfield  ?" 

Miss  Jernsha,  who  had  not  overheard  his  conversation 
with  Georgia,  faced  abruptly  round,  and  looked  at  him  in 
(he  utmost  surprise. 

"  Why,  bless  my  heart  if  it  ain't  I  Wall,  railly  now  I 
Why,  I  never  !  Georgey,  don't  you  remember  the  young 
gent  as  you  used  to  be  so  thick  'long  of  ?  Wal,  now  !  how 
do  you  do  ?  Why,  I'm  rail  glad  to  see  you.  I  railly  am, 
now  I"  And  Miss  Jerusha  shock  his  hand  with  an  empresses 
ment  quite  unusual  with  her  in  her  surprise. 

**  Thank  you.  Miss  Jerusha.  I  am  glad  ail  my  friends 
hayt  not  forgotten  me,"  said  Richmond. 


OLD    FRIENDS   MEET, 


141 


Georgia's  lip  carled  slightly,  and  facing  r^nnd,  she  said  : 

*<  Miss  Jerasha,  if  yoa'll  exoase  me,  I'll  go  on.  I  want 
to  change  this  wet  dress  ;'*and  withoat  waiting  for  a  reply, 
Georgia  harried  on. 

"  What  brings  him  here  ?"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she 
waliLed  quickly  toward  the  cottage.  ''  I  suppose  he  thinks 
he  is  to  be  my  lord  and  master  as  of  yore,  that  I  am  Btill  a 
slave  to  come  at  his  beck,  and  because  he  is  rich  and  I  am 
poor  he  can  command  me  as  much  as  he  pleases.  He  shall 
not  do  it  I  he  shall  not!  I  will  w«rer  forgive  him  for 
conqnering  me,"  flashed  Georgia,  clenching  her  hand  invol- 
untarily as  she  walked. 

"  And  so  you've  come  back  I  Wall,  now,  who'd  a 
thought  it  ?    Is  the  square  got  well  and  come  back,  too  ?" 

"  My  uncle  is  dead,"  said  the  young  man,  gravely. 

"  Do  tell  I  Dead,  is  he  ?  Wall,  we've  all  got  to  go, 
some  time  or  another,  so  there's  no  good  making  a  fvss. 
What's  going  to  come  of  the  old  place  up  there  ?" 

"  I  am  going  to  have  it  fitted  up  and  improved,  and  use 
it  for  a  country-seat." 

«  Oh — I  see  I  it's  your'n,  is  it  ?  Nice  place  it  is,  and 
worth  a  good  many  thousands,  I'll  be  bound  i  S'pose 
you'll  be  getting  married  shortly,  and  bringing  a  wife  there 
to  oversee  the  sarvints,  and  poultry,  and  things,  eh  ?"  and 
Mias  Jemsha  peered  at  him  sharply  with  her  small  eyes. 

"  Really,  Miss  Jerusha,  I  don't  know,"  he  said,  laugh- 
ingly, taking  off  his  hat  and  running  his  fingers  through 
his  waving  dark  hair.  "  If  I  could  get  any  one  to  have  me, 
I  might.  Do  you  think  I  could  succeed  in  that  sort  of 
speculation  here  in  Burnfield?  The  young  ladies  here 
know  more  about  looking  after  poultry  than  they  do  in  tk« 
city." 


% 


Ill  '  ■  'I' 

I  ! 


142 


OLD    FRIENDS    MEET. 


i 


I 


**  Ah  !  they  ain*t  properly  brought  up  there,"  oald  Misfl 
Jerusha,  shaking  her  head  ;  "  it's  iiothin'  but  boardin'- 
schools,  and  beaus,  pnd  theaters,  and  oth^r  wickednesses 
there  ;  'tain't  ekil  to  the  country  noways.  You'll  get  a 
wife  though,  easy  enough  ;  young  men  with  lots  of  money 
don't  find  much  trouble  doing  that,  either  in  town  or 
country.  How's  that  nice  brother  o'  your'n  ?"  said  Miss 
Jerusha,  suddenly  recollecting  the  youth  who  had  by  force 
possessed  himself  of  so  large  a  share  of  her  affections. 

"  He  is  very  well,  or  was  when  I  heard  from  him  last. 
He  has  gone  abroad  to  make  the  grand  tour." 

"  Oh — has  he  ?"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  rather  mystified, 
and  not  quite  certain  what  new  patent  invention  the  grand 
tour  was.  "  Why  couldn't  he  make  it  at  home  ?"  Then, 
without  waiting  for  an  answer,  "  Won't  you  come  in  ?  do 
come  in  ;  tea's  just  ready,  and  you  hain't  had  a  chance  to 
speak  to  Georgey  yet,  hey?  You're  most  happy.  Very 
well,  walk  right  in  and  take  a  cheer.     You,  Fly  !" 

"  Yes'm,  here  I  is,"  cried  Fly,  rushing  in  breathlessly, 
f   i  diving  frantically  at  the  oven. 

**  Where's  your  young  mistress  ?" 

"Upstairs." 

"  Well,  you  hurry  up  and  get  tea  ;  fly  round  now,  will 
you  ?  Oh,  here  comes  Georgey.  Why,  Georgey !  don't 
you  know  who  this  is  ?" 

Georgia  gave  a  start  of  surprise,  and  her  face  darkened 
as  she  entered  and  saw  him  sitting  there  so  much  at  home. 

Passing  him  with  a  distant  courtesy  she  said,  with 
marked  coldness  : 

"  I  have  that  pleasure.  Fly,  attend  to  your  baking;  I'll 
set  the  table." 

Mill  Jerusha  was  too  well  aocastomed  to  the  varying 


i 


f 


OLD    fRlENDS    MSET. 


141 


LlSf 


moods  of  her  ward  to  be  much  surprised  at  this  capricfous 
conduct  ;  BO  she  entered  into  conversation  with  Richmond, 
or  rather  began  a  racking  cross  examination  as  to  what  he 
had  been  doing,  where  he  had  been,  what  ho  was  going  to 
do,  and  how  the  last  five  years  had  been  spent  generally. 

To  all  her  questions  Mr.  Wildair  replied  with  the  ut- 
most politeness,  but — he  told  her  just  as  much  as  he  chose 
and  no  more.  From  this  she  learned  that  he  had  been 
studying  for  the  bar,  and  had  been  admitted,  that  his  ca- 
reer hitherto  had  been  eminently  successful,  that  his  uncle's 
death  had  rendered  him  independent  of  his  profession,  but 
that  having  a  passion  for  that  pursuit  he  was  still  deter- 
mined to  continue  it  ;  that  his  brother's  health  remaining 
delicate,  change  of  scene  had  been  recommended,  and  that 
therefore  he  had  gone  abroad  and  was  not  expected  home 
for  a  year  yet ;  that  a  desire  to  fit  up  and  refurnish  the 
"  House,"  as  it  was  called,  par  excellence,  in  Burnfield, 
was  the  sole  cause  of  his  leaving  Washington — where  for 
the  past  five  years  he  had  mostly  resided — and  finally,  that 
his  stay  in  this  flourishing  township  "  depended  on  circum- 
stances.'' 

It  was  lr«te  that  evening  when  he  went  away.  Georgia 
had  listened,  and,  except  to  Fly,  had  not  spoken  half  a 
dozen  words,  still  wrapped  in  her  mantel  of  proud  reserve. 
She  stood  at  the  window  when  he  was  gone,  looking  out  at 
the  dark,  flowing  waves. 

"  Nice  young  man,"  said  Misa  Jerusha,  approvingly, 
/eferring  to  her  guest. 

There  was  no  answer. 

"  Good-lookin',  too,"  pursued  Miss  Jerusha,  lookmg  re- 
4»»ctively  at  Betsey  Periwinkle,  "  and  rich.     Hem  .   I  say, 


Itj 

i 


144 


DUEAMlNd, 


■  I 


Georgia — you're  fond  of  money — wouldn't  it  be  pleasant  if 
you  was  to  be  mistress  birae-by  of  the  big  house — he/  f** 
She  looked  up  for  an  answer,  but  Georgia  was  goae. 


CHAPTER  X. 


DBBAMIKd. 


**  And  underneath  that  face,  like  summer^s  ocean, 
Its  lips  as  moveless  and  its  cheek  as  clear, 
Slumbers  a  whirlpool  of  the  heart's  emotions — 

Love,  hatred,  pride,  hope,  sorrow,  all  save  fear.** 

Hallkcx. 

ELL,  this  is  pleasant,"  said  Richmond,  throw 
ing  himself  carelessly  on  the  grass,  and  send* 
ing  pebbles  skimming  over  the  surface  of  the 
river ;  "  this  is  pleasant,"  he  repeated,  looking 
up  at  his  companion,  as  she  sat  drawing  under  the  shadow 
of  an  old  elm  down  near  the  shore. 

Three  months  had  passed  since  his  return,  and  the  glow- 
ing golden  midsummer  days  had  come.  All  this  time  he 
had  been  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  cottage — to  see  Misa 
Jerusha,  of  course ;  and  very  gracious,  indeed,  was  that 
lady's  reception  of  the  young  lord  of  the  manor.  Georgia 
was  freezing  at  first,  most  decidedly  below  zero,  and  enougn 
to  strike  terror  into  the  heart  of  any  less  courageous  knight 
than  the  one  in  question.  But  Mr.  Richmond  Wildair  was 
not  easily  intimidated,  and  took  all  her  chilling  hauteur 
coolly  enough,  quite  confident  of  triumphing  in  the  en^ 
It  WM  *  drawn  battle  between  them,  but  he  knew  he  wm 


jjREAMlNG, 


140 


i! 


the  better  general  of  tbe  two,  so  he  was  perfectly  easy  as  to 
the  is»ue.  In  fact,  he  rather  liked  it  than  otherwise,  on  th« 
principle  of  the  '*  greater  the  trial,  the  greater  the  triumph,** 
and,  accusiomed  to  be  flattered  and  caressed,  this  novel 
mode  cf  trcatraenl  was  something  new  and  decidedly 
pleasant.  So  he  kept  on  "  never  minding,"  and  visited  th« 
cottage  often,  and  talked  gayly  with  Miss  Jorusha,  and  wai 
respectful  and  quiet  with  Miss  Georgia,  until,  as  constant 
dropping  will  wear  a  stone,  so  Georgia's  unnatural  stiffness 
began  to  give  way,  and  she  learned  to  laugh  and  grow 
genial  again,  but  remained  still  on  the  alert  to  resist  any 
attempt  at  command.  No  such  attempt  was  made,  and  at 
last  Georgia  and  Richmond  grew  to  be  very  good  friends. 

Georgia  had  a  talent  for  drawing,  and  Richmond,  who 
was  quite  an  artist,  undertook  to  teach  her,  and  those  les- 
sons did  more  than  anything  else  to  put  them  on  a  sociable 
footing.  Richmond  liked  to  give  his  lessons  out  under  the 
trees,  wh-re  his  pupil  might  sketch  from  nature,  and  Geor- 
gia rather  liked  it  herself,  too.  It  was  very  pleasant,  those 
lessons  ;  Georgia  liked  to  hear  about  great  cities,  about  this 
rush,  and  roar,  and  turmoil,  and  constant  flow  of  busy  life, 
and  Richmond  had  the  power  of  description  in  a  high  de- 
gree, and  used  to  watch,  with  a  sly,  repressed  smile,  pencil 
and  crayon  drop  from  her  fingers,  and  her  eyes  fix  them 
selves  in  eager,  unconscious  interest  on  his  face,  as  she 
grew  absorbed  in  his  narrative. 

Dangerous  work  it  was,  with  a  pupil  and  master  young 
and  handsome,  the  romantic  sea-shore  and  murmuring  old 
old  trees  for  their  school-room,  and  talking  not  forbidden 
either.  How  Miss  Jerusha  chuckled  over  it  in  confidenc« 
\o  Betsey  Periwinke — she  didn't  dare  to  trust  Fly— and 

i2idalg«d  in  san^ry  wild  visions  of  a  brand-new  bro^ti  rilk 

7 


i 


I 


1441 


VRSAMINQ 


'm! 


s<  ^ 


Mi 


.ii 


dress  and  straw  bon-it  suitable  for  the  giving  awaj  a 
bride  in. 

Little  did  Georgia  dream  of  these  extravagant  peeps 
into  futurity,  or  the  lessons  would  have  ended  then  and 
there,  this  new-fledged  intimacy  been  unceremoniously 
nipped  in  the  bud,  and  Miss  Jerusha's  castles  in  Spain  tum- 
bled to  the  ground  with  a  crash  !  But  Georgia  was  in  a 
dream  and  said  nothing.  Richmond  didy  and  laughed 
quietly  over  it  in  the  shadow  of  the  old  ancestral  mansion. 

**  Yes,  this  is  pleasant/'  said  Richmond,  one  morning, 
as  he  lay  idly  on  the  grass,  and  Georgia  sat  on  the  trunk  of 
a  fallen  tree  near,  taking  her  drawing  lesson. 

She  lifted  her  head  and  laughed. 

"  What  is  pleasant  ?"  she  said. 

"  This — this  feeling  of  rest,  of  peace,  of  indolence,  of 
idleness.  I  never  sympathized  with  Charley's  love  for  the 
dolce  far  niente  before,  but  I  begin  to  appreciate  it  now. 
One  tires  of  this  hurrying,  bustling,  jostling,  uproarious 
life  in  the  city,  and  then  laziness  in  the  country  is  consid- 
ered the  greatest  of  earthly  boons.  All  work  and  no  play 
makes  Jack  a  dull  boy,  you  know.'' 

"  And  do  you  really  like  the  country  better  than  the 
city  ?"  asked  Georgia. 

"  I  like  it — yes — in  slices.  I  shouldn't  fancy  being  buried 
in  the  woods  among  catamounts,  and  panthers,  and  settlers 
hardly  less  savage.  I  shouldn't  fancy  sleeping  in  wigwams 
and  huts,  and  living  on  bear's  flesh  and  Johnny-cako  ;  but  I 
like  this.  I  like  to  lie  under  the  trees,  away  out  of  sight 
and  hearing  of  the  city,  yet  knowing  three  or  four  hours 
in  the  cars  will  bring  me  to  it  whenever  I  feel  like  going 
back.    I  like  the  feeling  of  languid  repose  these  still,  voice- 


DRSAMINQ. 


149 


[epa 

ind 

im- 


lesH,  midsummer  noondays  inspire  ;  I  like  to  have  nothing 
to  do  ;  and  plenty  of  time  to  do  it  :n." 

"  What  an  epicure  you  are,"  said  3eorgia,  smiling  | 
"  now  it  stems  to  me  after  witnessing  the  ever-changing, 
ever-restless  life  in  Washington  and  Now  York,  and  all 
those  other  great  cities,  you  would  find  our  sober  litti# 
humdrum  Burnfield  insupportably  dull.  T  know  I  should  ; 
I  would  like  above  all  things  to  live  in  a  great  city,  life 
seems  to  be  so  fully  waked  up,  so  earnest  there.  I  ahaU^ 
too,  some  da-  ,'*  she  said,  in  her  calm,  decided  way,  as  she 
took  up  another  pencil  and  went  on  quietly  drawing. 

"  Indeed  1"  he  said,  slowly,  watching  the  pebbles  ho  sent 
skimming  over  the  water  as  intently  as  if  his  whole  life 
depended  on  them.     "  Indeed  I  how  is  that  ?" 

**  Oh  I  I  shall  go  to  seek  my  fortune,**  she  said,  laugh- 
ingly, yet  in  earnest,  too.  *'  Do  you  know  I  am  to  be  rich 
and  great  ?  *  Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  king  and  queen 
with  three  sons,  and  the  youngest  was  called  Jack.*  I  am 
Jack,  and  you  know  how  well  he  always  came  out  at  the 
end  of  the  story." 

"  Georgia,  you  are  a — dreamer." 

'*  I  shall  be  a  worker  one  of  these  days.  My  hoar  haa 
not  yet  come.*'    And  Georgia  hummed  : 

**  I  am  asleep  and  don't  waken  me.** 

"  What  will  you  do  when  you  awake,  Georgia  T* 
**  What  Heaven  and  my  own  genius  pleases  ;  found  a 
colony,  find  a  continent,  make  war  on  Canada,  run  for 
President,  teach  a  school,  set  fire  to  Cuba,  learn  dress- 
making, or  set  up  a  managerie,  with  Betsey  Periwinkle  for 
my  stock  in  trade/'  she  said,  with  one  of  her  malicioat, 
quizzioallaugha.  ^ 


t 


K\ 


m 


flt 


11 


P'  <l 


148 


DBBAMINQ, 


*'  Georgia,  talk  Rense." 

'  Mr.  Wildair,  I  flatter  myself  I  am  ioing  that  new.* 

"  Miss  Darrell,  shall  I  tell  you  your  future  ?" 

"  I  defy  you  to  do  it,  sir." 

"  Don't  be  too  sure.  Now  listen.  In  the  first  place,  yo« 
will  get  married." 

"  No,  sir-r  /"  exclaimed  Georgia,  with  emphasis  :  "  I 
scorn  the  insinuation  t  I  am  going  to  be  an  old  maid,  like 
Miss  Jerusha." 

"  Don't  interrupt.  Miss  Darrel ;  it's  not  polite.  You 
will  marry  some  sweet  youth  with  nice  curling  whiskers, 
and  his  hair  parted  in  the  middie,  and  you  will  mend  his  Ad 
coats,  and  read  him  the  newspaper,  and  trudge  with  him  to 
masket,  and  administer  curtain  lectures,  and  raise  Shanghai 
roosters,  aad  take  a  prize  every  year  for  the  best  butt'^-r 
and  the  nicest  quilts  in  the  county ;  and  linally  you  will 
die,  and  go  up  to  heaven,  where  yon  will  belong,  anu  have 
a  wooden  tombstone  erected  to  your  memory,  with  your 
virtues  inscribed  on  it  in  letters  five  inches  long." 

<*  Shall  I,  indeed !  that's  all  you  know  about  it."  said 
Georgia,  half  inclined  to  be  provoked  at  this  picture  ;  **  no, 
lir ;  I  am  bound  to  astonish  the  world  some  of  these  days 
— hoto,  I  haven't  quite  decided,  but  I  know  I  shall  do  it. 
As  for  your  delightful  picture  of  conjugal  felicity,  you 
mmj  he  a  Darby  some  day,  but  I  will  never  be  a  Joan." 

"You  might  be  worse." 

"  And  will  be,  doubtless.  I  never  expect  to  be  any- 
thing very  good.  Emily  Murray  will  do  enough  of  that 
for  both  of  us." 

*<  £mily  is  a  good  g^rL  Do  yon  know  what  the  remindi 
one  of?" 

**  A  fragrant  little  spring  rose,  I  imagine.'* 


DUEAM1N9. 


la 


yoi 

:  "I 

like 


no. 


*'Te6,  of  that,  too  ,  but  she  is  more  like  the  river  just 
MOW  as  it  f.ows  on  smooth,  serene,  untroubled  and  shining, 
smiling  in  the  sunshine,  unruffled  and  calm." 

"  And  I  am  like  that  eame  river  lashed  to  a  fury  in  a 
December  storm,"  said  Georgia,  with  a  darkening  brow. 

**  Ezaotly— pre-oisely  I  though  you  are  quiet  enough 
now  ;  but  as  those  still  waters  must  be  lashed  into  tem- 
pests, just  so  certain  will  you — " 

"  Mr.  Wildair,  I  don't  relish  your  personalities,**  ^aid 
Oeorgia,  with  a  flushing  cheek  and  kindling  eye. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon — it  was  an  ungallant  speech — ^but  I 
did  not  know  you  oared  for  compliments.  What  shall  I 
say  you  look  like  ? — some  gorgeous  tropical  flower  ?" 

"  No,  sir  !  you  shall  compare  me  to  nothing !  Georgia 
Darrell  looks  like  herself  alone  !  There !  how  do  yon  like 
my  drawing  ?" 

He  took  it  and  looked  long  and  earnestly.  It  was  rather 
a  strange  one.  It  represented  a  wintry  sea  and  coast,  with 
the  dark,  sluggish  waves  tossing  like  a  strong  heart  in 
•trong  agony^  and  only  lit  by  the  titful,  watery,  glimmer  of 
a  pale  wintry  moon  breaking  through  the  dark,  lowering 
(clouds  above.  Down  on  the  shore  knelt  a  young  girl,  her 
long  hair  and  thin  garments  streaming  behind  her  in  th« 
wind,  her  hands  clasped,  her  face  blanched,  her  eyes  strained 
in  horror  far  over  the  troubled  face  of  the  sea  on  a  drown- 
ing form.  Far  out  a  female  face  rose  above  the  devouring 
waves — mich  a  face,  so  full  of  a  terrible,  nameless  horror, 
despair  and  utter  woe  as  no  fancy  less  vivid  than  that  of 
Georgia  could  ever  have  conceived.  One  arm  was  thrown 
up  far  over  her  head  in  the  death  struggle,  and  the  ey«s  is 
that  strange  face  were  appalling  to  look  on. 


m 


180 


DHEAMINQ, 


' 


'■mm 


Richmond  Wildair  held  his  breath  as  he  gazed,  and 
looked  up  in  Georgia's  dark  face  in  a  sort  of  fear. 

"  Georgia  I  Georgia  I"  he  said,  "  what  in  Mercy's  name 
were  you  thinking  of  when  you  drew  that  J'' 

She  laughed. 

"  Don't  you  like  it,  Mr.  Wildair?"  she  said. 

"  Like  it !  You're  a  goblin  !  a  kelpie  !  a  witch  I  an 
unearthly  changeling  I  or  you  would  never  have  conjured 
up  that  blood-chilling  face.  Why,  you  have  been  painting 
portraits !     Did  you  know  it  ?" 

"  I  did  not  when  I  commenced — I  found  I  had  when 
they  were  done." 

"  And  life-like  portraits  they  are,  too.  That  kneeling 
girl  is  Emily  Murray,  though  her  sweet  face  never  wore 
that  look  of  wild  horror  you  have  pictured  there.  And 
that  other  ghastly,  agonized  countenance,  that  seems  rent 
by  a  thousand  fiends,  is — " 

"  Myself." 

"  Oh,  Georgia  I  what  spirit  possessed  you  to  paint  that 
awful  face  ?" 

"  How  do  I  know  ?  The  spirit  of  prophecy,  perhaps,*" 
she  said,  in  a  tone  of  dark  gloom. 

"  Georgia  Darrell,  do  you  know  what  you  deserve  ?^ 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Then  I  shall  tell  you.  You  ought  to  be  locked  in  an 
attic,  and  fed  on  bread  and  water  for  a  month,  to  cool  the 
tever  in  your  blood." 

**  Thank  you  ;  I  would  rather  be  excused.  And  now  I 
oome  to  think  of  it,  it  couldn't  have  been  the  sjirit  of  proph- 
ecy either  that  inspired  me,  for  your  brother  Charles  onoe 
told  me  that  I  would  never  be  drowned." 

•*Ko?    How  did  he  know  it  ?" 


DREAMlNe. 


Ml 


*'  He  said  a  more  elevated  destiny  awaited  me — hang- 


Mg 


Jt 


"  What  if  he  turns  out  a  true  prophet  ?" 

"  I  shall  not  be  surprisod." 

"You  will  not?" 

"Most  certainly  not.  They  hang  people  for  mufder, 
don't  they?" 

"Well?" 

"  Well  1"  she  repeated,  mimicking  his  tone,  "  I  expect 
to  be  the  death  of  somebody  one  of  these  days," 

He  knew  she  spoke  lightly,  yet  suddenly  there  rushed 
to  his  mind  the  recollection  of  the  conversation  he  had  once 
held  with  his  brother,  in  which  he  compared  her  to  Lady 
Macbeth,  and  declared  his  belief  in  her  capability  of  com- 
mitting that  far-famed  lady's  crime.  Strange  that  it  should 
come  back  to  him  so  vividly  and  painfully  then. 

"  Well,  signor,"  said  the  clear,  musical  voice  of  Georgia, 
breaking  in  upon  his  reverie,  "  of  what  is  your  serene  high< 
ness  thinking  so  intently  ?  Do  you  fear  you  are  to  be  the 
future  victim  ?" 

"Georgia  I" 

"  I  listen,  mynheer." 

"  Suppose  you  loved  somebody  very  mnch — " 

"  A  mighty  absurd  supposition  to  begin  with.  I  never 
intend  to  do  any  such  thing." 

"  Now,  Georgia,  be  serious.  Suppose  you  loved  some 
one  with  all  your  heart,  if  you  possess  such  an  article,  you 
flinty  female  anaconda,  and  they  professed  to  love  you,  and 
afterward  deceived  you,  what  would  you  do  ?" 

"  Do  I"  her  face  darkened,  her  eyes  blazed,  her  lips 
sprung  quivering  apart,  her  hands  clenched;  "  do  !  I  should 
BLAST  them  with  my  vengeance  ;  I  would  live  for  revenge, 


m 


DREAMUKQ. 


I- 

't'i 
u 

•L 


\m 


I  would  (ifte  for  revenge !  I  would  track  them  ovei  th« 
world  like  a  sleuth-hound.  I  would  defy  even  death  by 
the  power  of  my  own  will  until  I  had  wreaked  this  doom 
on  their  devoted  head.  Deceive  me  !  Safer  would  it  be  to 
tamper  with  the  lightning's  chain  than  with  the  heart  that 
beats  here.'* 

She  struck  her  breast  and  rose  to  her  feet  transformed^ 
The  terrific  look  that  had  started  him  in  the  pictured  face, 
flamed  up  in  her  living  one  now,  and  she  stood  like  a  young 
Medusa,  ready  to  blight  all  on  whom  her  dark,  scorching 
glance  might  rest. 

He  stood  appalled  before  her.  Was  she  acting,  or  wai 
this  storm  of  passion  real  ?  It  was  a  relief  to  him  to  see 
one  of  his  own  servants  approaching  at  that  moment  with 
a  letter  in  his  hand.  The  presence  of  a  third  person 
restored  Georgia  to  herself,  and,  leaning  against  a  tree,  she 
looked  darkly  over  the  smiling,  shining  waters. 

**  From  Charley  I"  was  Richmond's  joyful  exclamation, 
as  he  glanced  at  the  superscription  of  the  letter  and  dis- 
missed the  man  who  brought  it.  "  It  is  nearly  six  months 
since  he  wrote  last,  and  we  were  all  getting  seriously 
uneasy  about  him.  Will  yon  excuse  me  while  I  read  it, 
Georgia  ?" 

Georgia  bent  her  head  in  token  of  aoqniesoenoe,  and 
taking  up  another  piece  of  paper,  began  carelessly  drawing 
a  scaffold,  with  herself  hanging,  to  horrify  her  companion. 
So  absorbed  did  she  become  in  her  task,  that  she  did  not 
observe  the  long  silence  of  her  companion,  until  suddenly 
lifting  her  eyes,  she  beheld  a  startling  sight. 

With  the  letter  olotched  with  a  death-grip  in  his  hand, 
bis  looe  livid,  bis  brow  corrugated,  his  eyes  fixed,  his  wboU 


DREAMUfQ, 


in 


the 

by 
ioom 
)e  to 
that 


form  rigid  and  motionless,  he  sat  with  his  eyei  riveted  oc 
that  fatal  letter. 

In  all  her  life  Georgia  had  never  seen  the  oalm,  seif- 
Bustained  Richmond  VVildair  moved,  and  now— oh,  this 
wan  awful !  »!^be  sprang  to  his  side  and  caught  his  arm, 
crying  out  : 

"  Richmond  !  Richmond  I  oh,  Richmond  t  wkat  ii  the 
matter?" 

lie  lifted  his  eyes  with  a  hollow  groan. 

**  Oh,  Georgia  I" 

**  Richmond  !  oh,  Richmond  !  is  Charley  dead  f** 

"  Dead  ?  No  t  Would  he  were  1"  he  said,  with  pat- 
■ionate  bitterness. 

**  Oh,  Richmond,  this  is  terrible !  What  has  yooi 
brother — " 

**  Brother !  it  is  false  !*'  he  exclaimed,  fiercely,  springing 
to  his  feet ;  "  he  is  no  brother  of  mine  !" 

Good  gracious  !  Richmond,  what  has  he  done?** 
Done  !*'  he  repeated,   furiously :  "  he  has  disgraced 
himself,  disgraced  us  all — done  what  i  will  never  forgive.'* 

It  was  the  first  time  Georgia  had  ever  heard  him  utter 
each  language.  As  a  gentleman,  he  was  not  in  the  habit  of 
of  staining  his  lips  with  expletives,  and  now  even  her 
strong  nature  shrank,  and  she  shuddered. 

"Oh,  what  b&s  Charley  done?  What  can  he  have 
done  ?  He  so  frank,  so  kind,  so  warm-hearted  ?  Oh  he 
cannot  have  commited  a  crime !  It  is  impossible,*'  eried 
Georgia,  vehemently. 

'*  It  is  not  impossible  ! — lost,  fallen,  degraded  wretch 
Oh,  mercy  !  that  I  should  have  lived  to  see  this  day  t    Ok 
who—who  shall  tell  my  mother  this?*' 


(( 


C( 


IM 


DBBAMINQ, 


'I 


13 
!9 


"  Richmond,  be  oalm — I  implore  /oa.  Tell  me  what 
he  has  done  ?'* 

"  What  you  shall  never  know — what  1  shall  never  tell 
you  I"  he  cried,  passionately. 

The  color  retreated  from  Georgia's  very  lipsj,  leaving 
her  white  as  marble. 

"  If  it  is  murder — '* 

"  Murder  I  TJiat  might  be  forgiven  !  A  man  jiay 
kill  another  in  the  heat  of  passion  and  be  forgiven. 
Murder,  robbery,  arson,  all  might  be  forgiven  ;  but  this  1 
Oh,  Georgia,  ask  me  not !     I  feel  as  if  I  should  go  mad.'* 

What  had  he  done,  what  awful  crime  was  this  that  had 
no  name,  before  which,  in  Richmond's  eyes,  even  murder 
sank  into  insignificance  ? 

Georgia  stood  appalled,  while  Richmond,  with  the  fatal 
letter  crushed  in  his  hand,  strode  up  and  down  as  if  he  were 
indeed  mad.  Then,  as  his  eye  fell  on  the  familiar  hand- 
writing, his  mood  changed,  and  he  passionately  exclaimed  : 

"  Oh,  Charles  !  Oh,  my  brother  *  Would  you  had  died 
ere  you  had  come  to  this !  Oh,  Georgia !  I  loved  him  so  1 
every  one  loved  him  so  I  and  now — and  now  /" 

He  turned  away  and  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hands, 
while  his  strong  chest  heaved  with  irrepressible  emotion. 

Every  tender,  womanly  feeling  in  Georgia's  heart  was 
stirred,  and  she  went  over  and  took  his  hand  in  hers,  and 
said,  gently  :  i 

"  Mr.  Wildair,  things  may  not  be  so  bad  as  you  suppose 
I  am  sure  they  are  not.  I  could  stake  my  soul  on  the  inno* 
cence  of  Charles  Wildair.  Oh,  it  is  impossible,  absurd,  he 
can  be  guilty  of  any  crime.  The  Charley  Wildair  I  once 
kcew  can  never  have  fallen  so  low.  Oh,  Richmond  I  fee) 
he  is  innocent.     I  know  he  is." 


DRBAMIN9. 


100 


f 


"  Georgia,  I  thank  you  for  yonr  sympathy ;  it  is  my 
best  consolation  now  ;  but  I  am  not  deceived  ;  he  is  guilty  ; 
he  has  confessed  all.  And  now,  Georgia,  I  never  want  to 
hear  his  name  mentioned  again  ;  never  speak  of  him  to  me 
more.  T  must  go  home  now  :  I  must  be  alone,  for  this 
shock  has  quite  unmanned  me.  Do  not  speak  of  this  to  any 
one.     Farewell !" 

He  pressed  her  hand,  pulled  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes, 
and  started  off  in  the  direction  of  Burnfield. 

Lost  in  amaze,  Georgia  stood  watching  him  until  he  was 
out  of  sight,  and  then  resumed  her  seat  on  the  grass,  to 
think  over  this  strange  scene,  and  wonder  what  possible 
crime  Charley  Wildair  had  committed.  It  was  hard  tc 
associate  with  any  crime  the  memory  of  the  handsome, 
happy,  generous  boy  she  remembered  ;  but  it  must  be  so. 
He  confessed  it  himself  ;  his  brother,  who  passionately 
loved  him,  branded  him  with  it  ;  therefore  it  must  be  so. 
While  she  sat  thinking,  two  soft  hands  were  placed  ovei 
her  eyes,  and  a  silky  curl  touched  her  cheek. 

"Emily,"  said  Georgia,  quietly,  without  moving.  ' 

"  Yes,  that  same  small  individual,"  said  a  sweet  voice  ; 
and  our  fair  Emily  came  from  behind  her,  and  threw  her- 
self down  on  the  grass  by  her  side.  '         '   ' 

"  Where  did  you  drop  from  ?"  asked  Georgia,  not  ex- 
actly delighted  at  the  interruption. 

"  Not  from  the  clouds,  Lady  Georgia.  I  went  to  the 
cottage,  and  learned  from  Miss  Jerusha  that  teacher  and 
pupil  had  gone  off  sky-gazing  and  '  makin  *  pictures.  At 
the  risk  of  being  de  trop,  I  folk^ed,  and  here  I  am. 
Where's  Monsieur  le  Tutor  ?"  *.  .,^   .;        .    v 

**  Gone  home,"  said  Georgia,  listlessly. 

"And  left  you  here  all  by  yourself  I     How  shockingly 


IM 


DREAMlim. 


fut 


ongallant !    Now,  I  tbongbt  better  tbings  of  tbe  lord  of 

Ricbmond  Hall.     Wbat  do  you  think  of  him,  Georgia  V* 

"Of  whom?" 

"Of  whom!    You  know  well  enough.     Of  Mr.  Wil» 
dair." 

"  I  have  formed  no  opinion  on  the  subject.** 

"Well,  that's  odd.     I  have,  and  I  think  him  a  splendid 

fellow — so  gentlemanly,  and  all  that.     I  wonder  what  he 

thinks  of  us?" 

"  He  thinks  you  are  ft  good  girl,  and  I  am  a  dreamer.** 

"A   good    girl  I     Well,  that's  very  moderate    praise, 

blank  and  cool,  but  just  as  much  as  I  want.     And  you  are 

a  dreamer— I  knew  that  before.     Will  yon  ever  awaken^ 

Georgia  ?" 

"I  shall  have  to;  I  never  wish  it,  though." 

**  Then  the  awakening  will  not  be  pleasant  ?** 

"  No ;  I   feel  a   presentiment  that   it    will  not.     Oh, 

Emily  I     I  am  tired  of  my  present  stagnant  life  ;  and  yet, 

sometimes  I    wish    I  might  never   be   anything    but    a 

'dreamer  of  dreams,'  without  even  realizing  how  real  life 

is.    I  wish  I  were  now  like  you,  my  little  Princess  Fros- 

tina." 

"  You  and  I  can  never  be   alike — never,     Georgia  ; 

every  element  in  our  nature  is  as  essentially  ^''ifferent  as 

our  looks.    Yea  are  a  blaze  of  r^d  sky-rockets,  and  I  am  a 

little  insigniScant  whiff  of  down.** 

**  No  indeed  ;  you  are  a  good,  lovable  girl,  with  a  warm 

heart,  a  dear  head,  and  a  cool  temper,  who  will  lead  a 

happy  life,  and   die  a  happy   death.     But  I— oh,  Emily, 

Emily  I  what  is  to  be  my  fate  ?" 

She  spoke  with  a  sort  of  cry,  and  Emily  started  and 

gaf^  on  her  with  a  troubled,  anxious  faoe. 


DEEAMIjm, 


m 


**  Oh,  Georgia,  what  is  the  mattur  ?  Ihar  Georgia  t 
what  is  the  matter  ?  Tou  look  so  dark,  and  strange,  and 
troubled.*' 

<<  I  am  out  of  spirits — a  bad  fit  of  the  blues,  Em,"  said 
Georgia,  trying  to  smile.  "  I  am  a  sort  of  monomaniac,  1 
think  ;  I  do  not  know  what  is  the  matter  with  me.  I  wish 
1  were  away  from  here  ;  I  grow  fairly  wild  at  times. 
Emily,  I  shall  die  if  I  stay  here  much  longer.*' 

All  that  day  something  lay  on  her  heart  like  kad. 
Perhaps  it  was  the  memory  of  that  mysterious  letter,  and 
Charley's  guilt,  and  his  brother's  anguish,  that  weighed  it 
down.  Miss  Jeruska  had  long  ago  given  up  wondering  at 
anything  her  eccentric  protegee  might  see  fit  to  do  ;  but 
when  all  day  long  she  saw  her  sit,  dark  and  silent,  with 
folded  hands,  at  the  window,  gazing  at  the  ever-restless, 
flowing  river,  she  did  wonder  what  strange  thoughts  were 
passing  through  her  young  heart,  or,  to  use  her  own  expres* 
siou,  what  had  "  come  to  her."  Fly  gave  it  as  her  opinion, 
it  was  only  a  '*  new  streak,"  in  the  already  sufiSoiently 
**  streaked  "  character  of  her  young  mistress.  And  Betsey 
Periwinkle,  wondering  too,  but  maintaining  a  discreet 
silence  on  the  subject,  came  purring  round  her,  while  her 
more  demonstrative  offspring  leaped  into  her  lap  and  held 
up  her  head  for  her  customary  caress. 

Unheeding  them  all,  Georgia  went  early  to  her  room, 
and  leaning  her  head  on  her  hand,  gazed  languidly  out. 
The  soft  evening  breeze  lifted  the  damp,  shining  braids  of 
her  dark  hair,  and  kissed  softly  her  grave,  beautiful  face, 
and  the  evening  star  rose  up  in  solemn  beauty,  and  shone 
dowc  into  the  dark  eyes  fixed  so  earnestly  on  the  far-off 
horizon  that  seemed  her  prison  wall.    And  Georgia  looked 


108 


aOMETElNQ    NEW. 


up,  and  felt  a  holy  calm  s^eal  into  her  heart,  and  forgot  ili 
her  somber  fancies,  and  her  high  heart-beating  grew  still  ia 
gazing  on  the  trembling  beauty  of  that  solitary  star. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


SOMBTHINO   NEW. 


The  faltering  speech,  and  look  estrangedf 
Voice,  step,  and  life,  and  beauty  changed; 
She  might  liavo  marked  all  this  aud  kiiown 
Such  change  is  wrought  by  love  aloue. — MooBS. 


HERE  were  great  doings  going  on  up  at  the 
"  house."  All  Burnfield  was  in  a  state  of  un- 
precedented excitement  about  it.  The  last  Pres- 
idential election,  the  debut  of  the  new  school 
marm,  or  even  the  first  arrival  of  the  locomotive  at  th* 
Burnfield  Railway  depot,  had  not  created  half  such  a  sensa- 
tion. Marvelous  tales  ran  like  wild  fire  through  the  town, 
of  earpets,  of  fine  velvets,  ns  Mrs.  Tolduso,  the  gossip-in- 
chief,  called  it ;  of  miirors  reaching  from  floor  to  ceiling  in 
dazzling  gilt  frames  ;  of  sofas,  and  couches,  and  lounging- 
chain,  and  marble-topped  tables,  and  no  evd  of  pictures, 
and  statues,  and  upholstery,  and  "  heaps,  and  heaps  of 
other  things — oh !  most  splendid,'*  said  Mrs.  Tolduso ; 
•*  sich  as  must  have  cost  an  awful  sight  of  money." 

Then  workmen  came  from  the  city,  and  tlie  stately  old 
mansion  underwent  a  course  of  painting  and  varnisLiug, 
until  it  fairly  glittered  ;  and  the  grounds  were  altered,  and 
fountains  erected,  and  statutes  of  Hebes,  and  Waterbearera, 


SOMETHING    ySW. 


108 


»nd  Venases  rising  from  the  sea- foam,  and  lions,  with 
fountains  spouting  from  their  mouths  and  nostrils,  and  lots 
of  other  devices  scattered  everywhere.  And  then  a  prim 
little  matron  of  a  housekeeper,  and  an  accomplished  cook, 
and  an  aristocratic  butler,  and  coquettish  chambermaids  in 
shaking  gold  ear-drops  and  pink  bows,  and  a  digniGed 
coachman,  and  two  fascinating  young  footmen,  and  a  de- 
lightful old  gardener,  with  beautiful  white  hair  and  whisk- 
ers, made  his  appearance,  electrifying  the  neighborhood, 
and  locking  down  with  contempt  on  their  open-mouthed, 
homespun  neighbors. 

The  people  stood  a  great  deal  more  in  awe  of  the  aristo- 
cratic butler  and  footman,  and  the  rest  of  them,  than  they 
did  of  their  young  master,  who  was  never  stiff  and 
pompous,  but  was  given  to  pat  the  children  on  the  head  as 
he  passed  and  throw  them  coppers,  and  touch  his  hat  to 
the  blooming,  blushing,  smiling  country  belles,  and  nod  with 
careless  condescension  to  their  fathers  and  brothers.  And 
then  wild,  mysterious  rumors  began  to  fly  about  that  the 
young  "  squire  "  was  going  to  marry  some  great  city  heir- 
ess, and  bring  her  here  to  live,  and  those  who  were  so 
fortunate  as  to  be  graciously  noticed  by  any  of  the  aristo- 
cratic flunkeys  aforesaid,  endeavored  to  "  pump  "  them,  but 
knowing  nothing  themselves  they  could  only  shake  their 
heads  and  look  mysterious  unspeakable  things,  that  said  as 
plainly  as  words :  "  Of  course  we  know  all,  but  we  ha  ye 
too  great  an  esteem  for  the  youug  gentleman  in  whose 
house  we  reside  to  betray  his  confidence;"  so  Mrs.  Tolduso, 
and  the  res"  of  her  set,  had  to  coin  their  own  newe,  and 
were  stiii  ieit  to  their  own  surmises. 

Miss  Jerusba,  albeit  not  given  to  gossiping,  could  not 
help  hearing  these  rumors,  and  the  worthy  sDJnstftr  began 


IM 


BOMETmNQ    NEW. 


I 

^'■i 


to  grow  alarmed.  She  had  never  realised  until  now  tht 
immenHe  distance  between  the  rich  young  gentleman,  Mr 
Wildair,  and  the  poor  daughter  of  the  poor  actress,  Georgia 
Darrell,  who  wore  her  poverty  as  a  duchess  might  her 
coronet.  Why,  the  very  servants  of  the  house,  in  their 
Arrogance,  would  look  down  on  the  village  girl  ;  the  fasci- 
nating young  footmen  would  have  considered  her  honored 
by  a  smile  ;  and  the  chambermaids  would  lift  their  rustling 
silken  robes  and  sweep  past  her  mouseline  de  laine  in  lofty 
disdain.  Georgia,  the  cottage  girl,  mistress  of  the  great 
house  and  all  those  awe-inspiring  young  ladies  and  gentle- 
men who  did  Mr.  Wildair's  work  for  a  **  consideration  !" 
Oh,  Miss  Jerusha,  no  wonder  your  chin  drops  as  you  think 
of  it,  and  a  sigh  comes  whistling  through  your  pursed-up 
lips  like  a  sough  of  wind  in  a  mainsail. 

Then  there  is  that  i  umor  of  that  haughty  young  city 
heiress  he  is  to  marry.  Miss  Jerusha  groans  in  spirit  when 
she  thinks  of  it,  and  wishes  Georgia  was  not  so  careless 
about  it,  for  the  only  time  that  young  lady  had  been 
*'  short  '*  with  Miss  Jerusha,  for  ever  so  long,  was  on  the 
occasion  of  asking  her  opinion  about  the  same  heiress,  when 
Georgia  told  her  curtly  ^*  she  neither  knew  nor  cared — Mr. 
Wildair  and  his  heiresses  were  nothing  to  her."  Tes,  Mist 
Jenisha*s  brilliant  visions  of  a  brown  silk  dress  and  new 
straw  bonnet  were  fast  going  the  way  of  many  another 
brilliant  vision,  and  she  sighed  again  over  the  evanishment 
of  human  hopes,  and  then  consoled  herself  with  her  CTer- 
Usting  stocking  and  the  society  of  the  Betsey  Periwinkles, 
mother  and  daughter.  It  was  true  Mr.  Wildair  was  a  daily 
Tisitor  still  at  the  cottage,  bat  his  walks  with  Georgia  were 
altogether  discontinued,  and  the  drawing  lessons  oompletely 
ghren  ap. 


SOMETIUNQ    NEW, 


111 


r  the 

ID,  Mr 

Georgia 
[ht  her 
their 
|e  fasci- 
|oiiored 
[ustling 
Jn  lofty 

great 
gentle- 
ilion  !" 
1  think 
"sed-up 

ng  city 
t  when 
careless 
i  been 
on  the 
I,  when 
i— Mr. 

ByMiSf 

d  new 
Dother 
hment 
•  •Ter- 
inkleii, 
r  daily 
i  were 
letely 


Miss  Jeriisha  did  not  know  that  this  was  by  the  cold, 
peremptory  command  of  Georgia  herself,  and  much  to  th« 
dissatisfaction  of  the  young  gentleman  ;  but  she  did  know 
that  the  vivid  crimson  was  paling  in  Georgia's  cheek,  the 
light  dying  out  of  her  brilliant  eyes,  asd  the  quick,  elastic 
spring  leaving  her  slow  footsteps  ;  knew  it  and  marveled 
thereat.  She  saw,  too,  with  suppressed  indignation  (for  it 
doesn't  pay  to  be  angry  with  rich  people)  that  Richmond 
saw  it  too,  and  seemed  rather  pleased  than  otherwise  there- 
at, while  Georgia  was  relapsing  into  her  first  mood,  and 
mvariably  froze  into  a  living  iceberg  the  moment  bis  light, 
firm  step  sounded  on  the  threshold. 

All  this  was  very  puzzling  to  Miss  Jerusha^  who  so(#u 
after  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  he  was  going  t?  be  mai- 
ried  to  somebody  else — a  report  which  he  never  e\  ';a  ocn- 
tradicted.  And  so  matters  were  getting  into  a  **  pretty 
mess,"  as  Miss  Jerusha  said  ;  and  things  generally  were  in 
a  very  unsatisfactory  state  indeed,  when  one  day  Mr.  Rich- 
mond Wildair  transfixed  Miss  Jerusha  by  the  polite  request 
that  she  would  do  him  the  honor  of  coming  and  looking  at 
his  house.  It  was  all  finished  now,  he  said,  and  he  wanted 
her  opinion  of  it. 

"  Lor*,  Mr,  Wildair?  what  do  you  'spose  I  know  *bout 
your  fine  houses,  and  your  fol-de-rols  and  gimcracks  that 
you've  got  into  it.  There  ain't  no  good  in  my  going," 
said  Miss  Jerusha  knitting  away,  and  looking  as  grim  as 
old  Father  Time  in  the  primer.  ' 

"Still,  my  dear  Miss  Jerusha,  I  should  like  your  opinion 
of  it,  and  you  will  really  very  much  oblige  me  by  coming," 
said  Mr.  Wildair,  in  tones  of  suave  and  stately  courtesy. 
« If  you  will  confer  this  pleasure  on  me,  I  will  send  mj 
oa-^riage  for  yon  any  day  you  will  be  pleased  to  name.** 


i  I 


1  I 


l! 


If 


it' ' 
If;: 
|i  1 ' 


! 


!   j 


IM 


DtMETHlNG    NEW, 


"  Oh,  gracious,  do  I"  ejaculated  Miss  Jerusba,  in  iklftni, 
as  the  remembrance  of  the  dignified  coachman  came  over 
her ;  "  not  for  the  world.  Still  I  should  admire  to  see  it, 
but — Georgey,  what  do  yau  tay  ?    Do  I  look  fit  to  go?" 

"  You  may  please  youi'self ,  Miss  Jerusha,"  she  said  in 
a  voice  so  cold  and  constr.iined,  that  Miss  Jerusha  looked 
at  her  and  shifted  uneasily  in  her  seat. 

"  Let  me  answer  for  Miss  Darrell,"  broke  in  Richmond. 
"  You  do  look  fit  to  ^Oj  and  1  shall  consider  it  a  direct 
personal  hint  that  you  do  not  want  to  see  me  here  any  more 
if  you  refuse.     If  you  will  not  visit  me,  I  will  not  visit  you.*' 

"  Perhaps  it  would  have  been  better  if  you  never  had," 
thought  Emily  Murray,  who  chanced  to  be  present. 

"  Oh,  well,  I  s'pose  I'd  better,"  said  Miss  Jerusha, 
shifting  uneasily  in  her  sea*  again  ;  "  but  the  fact  is,  Mr. 
Wildair,  them  there  servants  o'  yourn,  are  a  stuck-up  set, 
and  I—" 

"  Have  no  fear  on  that  score,  my  dear  madam,"  said 
Mr.  Wildair  ;  "  my  servants  will  keep  their  proper  places, 
and  treat  my  guests  with  becoming  deference.  And  now, 
when  am  I  to  expect  you  ?" 

"  Well,  to-morrow  mornin',  I  guess,"  said  Miss  Jerusha, 
who  perhaps  would  not  have  gone  but  for  the  opportunity 
of  humbling  and  snubbing  the  servants,  one  or  two  ot  whom 
had  sneered  at  her  in  Burnfield,  by  letting  them  see  she 
was  the  honored  friend  of  their  master. 

<*  If  Mibs  Murray  and  Miss  Darrell  would  honor  me 
likewise  by  accompanying  you,"  ie  said  hesitatingly. 

Georgia  started  as  if  she  had  received  a  galvanic  shock, 
and  a  fiaah  like  sheet-lightning  leaped  from  her  fierce  eyes  ; 
but  Emily  touched  her  Land  softlf,  and  replied,  quickie 
before  she  could  speak  : 


iii 


BOMETHINQ    NSW, 


1« 


e  over 

[see  it, 

haid  in 
looked 


lond. 
Idirect 

more 
you.*' 
had," 

rusha, 
s,  Mr. 
ip  set, 

"  said 

>Iaces, 

now, 

usha, 
mity 
rhom 
9  she 

r  me 

ock, 
res; 


**  Thank  you,  Mr.  Wildair ;  yon  will  excuse  at. 
Georgia,  yon  promised  to  show  me  that  Fiench  book  yc« 
were  reading.     Come  with  me  now  and  get  it." 

Both  arose,  and,  passing  Mr.  Wildair  with  a  slight 
courtesy,  swept  from  the  room,  leaving  him  in  undisturbed 
possession  of  Miss  Jerusha,  but  whether  to  his  gratification 
or  annoyance  it  would  have  taken  a  profound  observer  to 
tell,  for  his  face  wore  its  usual  calm,  unruffled  expression. 
But  his  visit  was  Bhorter  than  usual  that  day,  and  in  half 
an  hour  Miss  Jerusha  was  alone. 

Next  morning,  resplendent  in  her  still  new  and  gorgeous 
'<  kaliker  gownd,"  Miss  Jerusha  set  off  for  the  "  house." 
Opening  the  outer  gate,  she  passed  up  a  magnificent  shaded 
avenue,  where  her  eyes  were  greeted  and  electrified  by 
glimpses  of  floral  beauty  hitherto  unknown.  Arriving  at 
the  hall-door,  Miss  Jerusha  plucked  up  spirit  and  gave  a 
thundering  knock  ;  for  though  there  was  a  bell,  the  anci'int 
lady  knew  nothing  of  any  such  modern  innovations. 

The  unusual  sound  brought  the  two  fascinating  footmen 
and  spruce  chambermaids  (who  up  to  the  present  had  had 
very  little  to  do)  to  the  door ;  and  when  it  swung  back 
and  displayed  the  tall,  lank  form  of  Miss  Jerusha  in  her 
astonishing  dress,  a  universal  titter  ran  from  lip  to  lip. 

"  Well,  old  lady,  what  can  we  do  for  you  to-day  ?" 
insinuated  one  of  the  footmen,  thinking  Miss  Jerusha  an 
appropriate  subject  to  poke  fun  at. 

<*  Where's  your  master?"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  sharply. 

«  Here;  marm,  this  is  him,"  said  the  fellow,  pointing  to 
nis  brother  flunkey,  who  stood  grinning,  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets. 

*'  Yes,  marm,  I'm  the  high  cockalorum  ;  we  hev Vt  got 
anything  for  you  to  day,  though." 


I 


J 


!    i 

!  i; 

;  .  I 

1  li 


.  1 


i; 


I  ! 


if  \ 


l«t 


aOMBTHlNQ    NEW. 


<'6e88  yon  mistook  the  door,  old  ladj,  didn't  jon  f  laid 
Vh»  first,  with  an  insolent  leer. 

The  man's  words  and  looks  so  enraged  Miss  Jemsha 
that,  lifting  her  hand,  she  gave  him  a  slap  in  the  face  that 
sent  him  reeling  half  way  across  the  hall. 

<*  Why,  you  old  tramp,"  exclaimed  the  other,  making  a 
spring  at  the  undaunted  Miss  Jerusha,  when  an  iron  grasp 
was  laid  on  his  collar,  and  he  was  harled  to  the  other  side 
of  the  long  hall,  and  his  master^s  voice  exclaimed  : 

"  Tou  insolent  puppy  I  if  I  ever  hear  you  address  any  one 
in  this  style  again,  I'll  not  leave  a  whole  hone  in  your  body. 
Mies  Jerusha,  I  beg  ten  thousand  pardons  for  having  ex- 
pof  ed  yon  to  the  insolence  of  these  rascals,  but  I  will  take 
care  it  never  happens  again.  Here,  you  fellows,"  said 
Richmond,  turning  round  ;  but  the  hall  was  deserted,  and 
he  and  Miss  Jerusha  were  alone. 

"  Never  mind,  Mr.  Wildair,"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  delighted 
at  their  discomfiture,  "  it  ain't  no  matter ;  I  guess  they  got 
as  good  as  they  brought,  sir  !  What  a  big  house  this  is,  to 
be  sure." 

But  when  Miss  Jerusha  was  led  through  it,  and  all  its 
wonders  and  hitherto  undreamed-of  grandeur  were  revealed 
to  her  amazed  eyes,  speech  failed  her,  and  she  stood  as- 
tounded, transfixed,  and  awe-struck.  Never  in  all  her 
wildest  visions,  had  she  conjured  up  any  thing  like  this,  and 
she  held  her  breath,  and  trod  on  tiptoe,  and  spoke  in  a 
Btilled  whisper,  and  wondered  if  she  were  not  in  an  en* 
chanted  land,  instead  of  simply  in  the  sumptuous  drawing- 
rooms,  boudoirs,  and  saloons  of  the  <*  house." 

Richmond  watched  her  with  an  amused  smile,  and  when 
ihe  had  been  <*  upbtairs,  and  downstairs,  and  in  my  lady'a 
dumber,"  he  insisted  on  her  taking  off  her  bonnet  and 


BOMBTHINO    NEW. 


160 


Mid 

frofllui 
that 

fingt 
frasp 
side 


■hawl,  and  staying  for  dinner.  So  he  rang  the  bell,  and 
ordered  the  serrant  to  serve  dinner  an  hour  earlier  thaa 
nsnal,  and  send  up  Mrs.  Hamm,  the  housekeeper.  And  in 
a  few  minutes,  Mrs.  Hamm,  a  very  grand  little  woman  in- 
de^,  in  a  black  satin  dress,  and  gold  watch,  and  dainty 
little  black  lace  cap,  swept  in,  and  was  introduced  to  Miss 
Skamp,  who  felt  rather  fluttered  by  the  ceremony,  and 
would  have  given  a  good  deal  to  have  been  back  in  her 
cottage  just  then,  scolding  Fly  and  kicking  Betsey  Peri- 
winkle. But  Mrs.  Hamm  was  a  discreet  little  lady,  and 
lad  heard  the  episode  of  the  two  footmen,  and  was  in- 
tensely gracious  and  polite — so  much  so,  indeed,  that  it 
seriously  discomposed  Miss  Jerusha,  who  made  a  thousand 
blunders  during  dinner,  and  did  not  breathe  freely  until  she 
was  fairly  on  her  way  home  again,  in  the  carriage,  too,  for 
Mr.  Wildair  would  not  hear  of  her  walking  back. 

That  was  a  triumph  for  Miss  Jerusha  Glory  Ann 
Skamp  I  Here  was  an  eminence  she  had  never  dreamed 
of  attaining  !  Driving  through  her  native  town,  amid  the 
wondering  eyes  of  all  the  inhabitants  crowding  to  every 
door  and  window,  in  the  magnificent  carriage,  with  silk 
velvet  cushions,  drawn  by  two  beautiful  horses  in  silver- 
moanted  harness,  and  driven  by  a  gentleman  looking  like 
A  lord  bishop  at  the  very  least. 

Oh  !  it  was  too  much  happiness  !  She  the  descendant 
•f  many  Skamps,  to  be  thus  honored  I  What  would  her 
ancient  **  parients"  say,  could  they  look  out  of  their  graves 
and  behold  this  glorious  sight  ?  Wouldn't  she  be  looked 
up  to  in  Burnfield  for  the  future,  and  wouldn't  she  carry 
her  head  high  though  !  Why,  not  one  in  all  Burnfield  bat 
Mr.  Barebones,  the  parson,  had  been  invited  to  dine  with  the 
*^  Squire,"  and  neither  Mrs.  nor  Miss  Barebcnes  had  ever 


i  ■ 


t 
II       i 


106 


B0METH1N9    NEW. 


secDj  much  less  riden  in,  his  carriage.  That  ti^ia  the  red- 
^tter  day  in  all  Miss  Jerusha's  life.  She  was  sorry,  very 
sorry,  when  the  carriage  drew  up  before  her  own  door,  and 
the  dignified  coachman,  touching  his  gold-banded  hat  to 
her,  drove  off,  and  left  her  with  a  heart  swelling  high  with 
pride  and  exultation,  to  enter  her  dwelling. 

She  found  Georgia  sitting  in  her  favorite  seat  by  the 
window  commanding  a  view  of  the  river,  a  book  lying 
Jistlessly  between  her  fingers,  her  eyes  on  the  floor,  her 
thoughts  far  away — far  away.  Miss  Jerusha  entered, 
iropped  into  a  seat,  and  then  began  a  glowing  harangue 
on  the  glories  and  splendor  of  Richmond  House. 

Georgia  moved  her  chair,  turned  her  head  aside,  and 
listened  like  one  deaf  and  dumb.  Long  and  eloquently  did 
tbe  old  lady  expatiate  on  its  beauties  and  pomp,  but 
Gdorgia  answered  never  a  word. 

"  Ah !  that  heiress,  or  whatever  gets  him,  will  have 
goad  times  of  it,"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  shaking  her  head  by 
way  of  a  wind-up.  "  What  do  you  think,  Georgia,  but  I 
asked  him  if  he  was  really  a-goin'  to  be  married." 

There  was  no  reply  ;  but  Miss  Jerusha  was  too  full  of 
her  subject  to  mind  this,  and  went  on  : 

"  Says,  I,  *  I  hear  you're  a-goin'  to  be  married,  Mr. 
Wildair,'  and  he  larf  s.  *  Is  it  true  ?*  says  I,  and  he  nods 
and  begins  eatin*  peaches,  and  larf  s  again.  <  To  a  heiress  T 
•ays  (.  *Yes,  to  an  heiress — ^'mensely  rich,'  says  he. 
*  Thai's  what  I  am  a-goin'  to  marry  her  for.'  *  Marry  her 
for  ht  r  money  !'  says  I ;  *  oh,  Mr.  Wildair,  ain't  yo^i 
ashamtd?'  *No,'  says  he,  larfing  all  the  time,  and  giving 
me  one  of  those  queer  looks  out  of  them  handsome  eyes  ot 
his'D.  *  Well,  you  ought  for  to  be,'  says  I,  rail  mad.  *  la 
fhe  gOT.K?-looking ^  says  I.     'Beautiful,'  iAJB  he;   *thc 


s^^ 


BOMETHINO    NEW. 


117 


handsomest  gal  you  ever  sesD.'  *  I  don't  bel.  eve  it  :  I 
ajn't  believe  it  !*  says  I.  *■  She  coulduH  be  handsoaieT 
than  my  Geoigie,  no  bow  ;  it's  clean  onpossible,*  says  I." 

As  if  she  had  received  a  spear-thrust,  Georgia  sprang 
to  her  feet  and  turned  upon  Miss  Jerusha  such  a  white  face 
and  such  fiercely  blazing  eyes  that  the  good  lady  recoiled 
in  terror,  and  the  word  died  on  her  lips. 

"  Did  you  dare  .*'"  she  exclaimed,  hoarsely. 

"  Dare  what  ?  Oh,  my  dear  1  What  hev  I  done,  Geor- 
gia ?*'  cried  out  Miss  Jerusha,  in  dismay. 

But  Georgia  did  not  reply.  Fixing  her  eyes  oa  Miss 
Jerasha's  face  with  a  look  she  never  forgot,  she  turnti 
and  left  the  room. 

<'  Awful  sarpints !  what  hev  I  done  ?"  said  the  dismayed 
Miss  Jerusha.  I'm  always  a  doing  something  to  make 
Georgey  mad  without  knowing  it.  Can't  be  helped. 
Gracious  !  if  I  only  had  a  house  like  that !" 

All  through  Bumfield  spread  the  news  of  the  visit  ex- 
traordinary, and  before  night  it  was  currently  known  to 
every  gossip  from  one  end  of  it  to  the  other  that  young 
Squire  Wildair,  forgetting  the  ancient  dignity  of  his  house, 
was  going  to  be  immediately  married  to  Georgia  Darrell, 
and  before  long  this  rumor  reached  the  ears  of  Miss  Jerusha 
and  Mr.  Wildair  himself.  From  the  latter  personage  it 
provoked  a  peculiar  smile,  full  of  quiet  meaning,  but  Mist 
Jerusha  hardly  knew  whether  to  be  pleased  or  otherwise. 

For  her  own  part,  she  would  have  oonsiderc  I  the  rumor 
an  honor ;  but  Georgia  was  so  ''^tieer,"Miss  Je  usha  would 
not  for  all  the  world  she  should  hear  it.  Other  girls  might 
not  mind  such  things  ;  but  she  was  not  like  oth"  r  girls,  and 
the  old  maid  had  a  vague,  uneasy  idea  that  something 
terrible  would  be  the  consequence  if  she  hea  d  it.    Bat 


i«e! 


SOMETRJiQ    SEW, 


iiii 


Georgia  did  not  hear  it.  There  was  a  ^uiet,  c/onscioui 
dignity  about  her  of  late  years  that  made  people  keep  their 
distance  and  mind  to  whom  they  were  talking ;  and  not 
even  that  most  inveterate  of  gossips,  Mrs.  Tolduso,  would 
have  been  hardy  enough  to  put  the  question  to  the  haughty 
reserved  girl.  Therefore,  though  Emily,  and  Richmond, 
and  Miss  J  crusha,  and  every  one  over  the  innocent  age  of 
three  years  old  in  Burufield,  knew  all  about  the  current 
report,  Georgia,  the  most  deeply  interested  of  all,  nevei 
dreamed  of  its  existence. 

And  so  matters  were  getting  most  delightfully  compli- 
cated, and  Miss  Jerusha's  dreams  were  growing  "  small  by 
degrees  and  beautifully  less,"  when,  one  evening,  about  a 
fortnight  after  her  visit,  Georgia,  who  had  been  out  for  a 
walk — a  very  anasual  thing  for  her  of  late  days — came 
suddenly  in,  so  changed,  so  transfigured,  that  Miss  Jerusha 
dropped  her  knitting  and  opened  her  month  and  eyes  to  an 
alarming  wideuess  in  her  surprise.  Her  face  was  radiant, 
lighted,  brilliant ;  her  eyes  like  stars,  her  cheeks  glowing  ; 
she  seemed  to  have  found  the  fabled  elixir  of  youth,  and 
life,  and  hope,  and  happiness. 

**  Why,  Georgia  I  My-y-y  conscience  I"  exclaimed  Miss 
Jerusha,  with  a  perfect  shake  on  the  prononn  in  her  sar- 
prise. 

Bat  Georgia  laughed.  Miss  Jerusha  could  not  remem* 
ber  when  she  had  heard  her  laugh  before,  and  the  rosy 
color  lighted  up  beautifully  her  beaming  face. 

<*  What  on  airth  has  come  to  you,  Georgey  ?"  exclaimed 
Miss  Jerusha,  more  completely  bewildered  than  she  had 
ever  been  before  in  the  whole  course  of  her  life.  "  Why, 
one  wonld  think  you  was  enchanted  or  something." 

Again  Georgia  laughed.    It  was  perfect  mnsio  to  heai 


SOMETHING    NXW, 


m 


her,  and  fairly  gladdened  Miss  Jerusha's  o.i  heart.  She 
did  not  say  what  had  *'  oome  to  her,"  but  it  was  evidently 
something  pleasant,  for  no  face  had  changed  so  in  one  hoar 
as  hers  had. 

"  Never  mind,  Miss  Jerasha  ;  shall  I  set  the  table  for 
tea  ?  Here,  Betsey,  get  out  of  the  way.  Come,  Fly,  make 
haste  ;  Miss  Jerusha  wants  her  tea,  I  know.** 

<^  Well,  gracious !"  was  Miss  Jerusha's  ejaculation,  as 
she  watched  the  graceful  form  flitting  airily  hither  and 
thither,  like  an  embodied  sunbeam, ''  if  that  gal  ain't  got 
as  many  streaks  as  a  tulip  I  What  will  be  the  next,  I  won- 
der ?" 

All  tea-time  Georgia  was  another  being ;  and  when  it 
was  over,  instead  of  going  straight  to  her  room,  as  was 
her  fashion,  she  took  some  needle-work  that  Miss  Jerusha 
could  not  sew  on  after  candle-light,  and  sat  down  to  work 
and  talk,  while  Miss  Jerusha  sat  at  her  work,  still  digesting 
her  astonishment,  and  not  quite  certain  whether  she  had 
not  gone  out  of  her  mind. 

The  dock  struck  nine.  Miss  Jerusha,  who,  from  time 
immemorial,  had  made  it  a  point  of  conscience  never  to  sit 
up  a  moment  later,  began  folding  up  her  work.  Georgia, 
who  was  standing  with  her  elbow  resting  on  the  mantel- 
piece, her  forehead  dropped  upon  it,  and  her  luminous  eyes 
filled  with  a  deep  joy  too  intense  for  smiles,  fixed  on  the 
green  boughs  on  the  hearth,  now  came  over,  and,  to  the 
grea^  surprise  of  the  venerable  spinster,  knelt  down  before 
her,  (    d  put  her  arms  caressingly  around  her  waist. 

**  Miss  Jerusha,"  she  said,  softly,  lifting  her  dark,  beau- 
tiful eyes  to  her  wrinkled  face. 

"  Well,  Georgey,"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  in  a  subdued  tont 
of  wonder. 


f7f 


SOMETHING    NEW. 


\ 


*It  «  taearly  six  years  since  yoa  first  took  me  here  t« 
Hve,  is  It  rot  ?"  abe  asked. 

"  Nearly  sir  yf^,^  said  Miss  Jerusha. 

"  ^d  t  '  o(  tin  I  ha\^  been  a  very  wild,  wayward, 
^isobediept  g.r;  ;  ^;paying  aU  your  kindness  with  ingrati- 
tude, have  I  no I ?" 

"Why,  Georgey  r 

"  I  have  been  passionate,  siablo^yrn,  xnH  willful ;  saucy, 
impertinent,  and  ungrateful ;  I  know  I  ba\<^,  I  feel  it  now. 
You  were  very  good  to  take  the  poor  Httle  orphan  girl,  who 
might  have  starved  but  for  you,  and  ibhis  was  your  reward. 
Oh,  Miss  Jerusha  I  dear,  best  friend  that  ever  was  in  this 
world,  can  you  ever  forgive  me  V* 

"  Oh,  Georgey  I"  saia  Miss  Jerusha,  fairly  sobbing. 

**  I  am  sorry  for  what  I  have  done  ;  say  you  forgive  me| 
Miss  Jerusha,"  said  Georgey,  sweetly. 

"  Oh,  Georgey  I  my  dear  little  Georgey,  I  do  forgive 
you,"  and,  quite  melted.  Miss  Jerusha  sobbed  outright. 

**  Dear  Miss  Jerusha,  how  I  thank  you.  Lay  yonr  hand 
on  my  head  and  say  *  Heaven  bless  yon !"  I  have  no 
mother  hor  father  to  bless  me  now." 

"  May  the  Lord  in  Heaven  bless  thee,  Georgey  !"  and 
Miss  Jerusha's  hand,  trembling  with  unwonted  emotion,  fell 
on  the  young  head  bent  so  meekly  now,  and  two  bright 
drops  fell  shining  there,  too. 

Georgia's  beautiful  arms  encircled  her  neck,  and  her 
lips  touched  those  of  her  old  friend  for  the^r«^  timCf  and 
then  she  was  gone.  And  Miss  Jesusha  found  that  there 
was  something  new  under  the  sun. 

But  Miss  Jeruiha  discovered,  when  the  morning  dftwnedp 
Ihat  still  another  surprise  awaited  her. 


MICMMOND      HOVSSQBTB   A    M1STME8& 


n 


)re  to 


rrati- 


CHAPTER  XIL' 


BIOHICOND       HOUSE   GETS   ▲   MIBTB 


r : 


I 


**  Bride,  upon  thy  wedd^'ar  day 
Did  the  fluttering  of  i.  f  :    tatb 
Speak  of  joy  or  woe  '  eu(      ».  t 
And  the  hue  that  '*>  n>  anc>  oame 
On  thy  cheek,  like  (i.  -  ^  of  flame, 
Flowed  its  crimsa    from  the  unrest 
Or  the  gladness  o.    ^  y  breast  f " 

jREAKFAST  was  over.  Georgia,  blnshing  and 
smiling  beneath  Miss  Jerusba's  curious  scrutiny, 
bad  gone  back  to  her  room,  and  Miss  Jeru- 
sha,  sitting  in  her  low  rocking-chair,  was  left 
alone  with  the  bright  morning  sunshine  that  lay  in  broad 
patches  on  the  floor  to  the  special  delectation  of  Mrs.  and 
Miss  Betsey  Periwinkle. 

Miss  Jerusha  was  thinking  of  a  good  many  thingn  in 
general,  but  Georgia's  unaccountable  freaks  in  particular, 
when  a  well-known  step  sounded  on  the  threshold,  and  the 
tall,  stately  form  of  Richmond  Wildair  stood  before  her. 

Miss  Jerusha  was  always  pleased  to  have  the  rich  young 
squire  visit  her,  because  it  added  to  her  importance  in  the 
eyes  of  the  villagers  ;  so  she  got  up  with  a  brisk,  delighted 
<*  how  d'ye  do,"  and  placed  a  chair  for  her  visitor. 

*'  All  alone.  Miss  Jerusha  ?"  said  Mr.  Wildair,  taking  up 
Betsey  Periwinkle  the  second,  who  came  purring  politely 
around  him,  and  stroking  her  mottled  coat. 

"Wall,  not  exactly,"  said  Miss  Jerusha.  "Georgia's 
np  stairs,  for  a  wonder.    I'll  call  her  down,  if  you  like." 


>li 


m 


RICHMOND    EOUBB 


"  No— never  mind,"  said  Mr.  Wildair.     "  Miss  Georgia 

doesn't  always  seem  so  glad  to  see  me  that  she  should  bo 
disturbed  now  on  my  accoant." 

"  Wail,  Mr.  Wildair,  Georgey's  queer  ;  there's  never  no 
tellin'  what  she'll  do  ;  if  you  'spect  her  to  do  one  thing  you 
may  be  pretty  certain  she'll  do  'xactly  t'other.  Now, 
yesterday  afternoon  she  went  out  as  glum  as  a  porkypine" 
— Miss  Jerusha's  ideas  of  porcupines  were  rather  vague — 
**  and,  bless  my  stars  I  if  she  didn't  come  in  a  smilin'  like  a 
basket  of  chips.  My  'pinion  is,"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  firmly, 
"  that  something's  come  to  her  ;  you  needn't  believe  it  if 
you  don't  like  too,  but  /do." 

A  smile  full  of  curious  meaning  broke  over  Mr.  Wildair*! 
face. 

"  On  the  contrary,  my  dear  madam,  I  do  believe  it  mofft 
firmly.  Not  only  do  I  think  something  came  to  her  yester- 
day,  but  I  hnow  it  from  positive  observation." 

**  Hey  ?"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  looking  up  sharply. 

Mr.  Wildair  put  down  little  Betsey  Periwinkle,  got  np, 
and  leaning  his  arm  on  the  mantel,  with  that  same  strange 
smile  on  his  face,  stood  looking  down  on  Miss  Jerusha. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  asked  the  old  lady,  with  a  pouled 
look  answering  that  sinile,  as  if  he  had  spoken. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Jerusha,  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  yoa 
this  morning,  a  gteaJt  favor,  a  very  great  favor,  indeed,"  he 
said,  with  a  light  she  had  never  seen  before  in  his  handsome 
eyes. 

<'  Wall,"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  looking  most  delightfully 
perplexed,  "  what  is  it  ?" 

**  I  want  yoa  to  give  me  something." 

"  Yon  do  !  Why,  my  gracions  I  I  ain't  got  oothiaf 
to  fire  yon." 


GETS   A    MISTBEM, 


in 


''Tei,  yoa  have  ;  a  treasure  beyond  all  pribe.** 

«  Good  gracioas  1  where  ?'*  Mid  MiM  JeniahA,  gMiBg 
round  with  a  bewildered  look. 

"  I  mean — Georgia,^* 

"  Hey  V 

Richmond  laughed.  Miss  Jemsha  had  jomped  as  if 
she  had  suddenly  sat  down  on  an  upturned  tack. 

«  Miss  Jerusha,  Richmond  House  wants  a  mistress,  and 
Zwant  Miss  Georgia  Darrell  to  be  that  mistress." 

**  Oh,  my  gracious !"  cried  the  overwhelmed  Miia 
Jerusha,  sinking  back  in  her  chair. 

«Yon  have  no  objections,  I  hope,  my  dear  madam." 

"  Oh,  my  gracious  !  did  you  ever  ?**  exclaimed  Mist 
Jerusha,  appealing  to  society  at  large.  "  Marry  mj 
Gteorgey  !    My-y-y  conscience  alive  !" 

Richmond  stood  smilingly  before  her,  running  his  fin- 
gers through  his  glossy  dark  hair,  waiting  for  her  astonish- 
ment to  evaporate. 

<'  Ton  ain't  in  airnest,  now,"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  resting 
her  chin  on  her  hand  and  peering  up  in  his  face  with  a  look 
of  mingled  incredulity  and  delight,  as  the  faded  vision  of 
the  brown  silk,  and  the  new  straw  bonnet  began  agair  to 
loom  up  in  the  distance. 

"Never  was  so  much  so  in  my  life.  Come,  Mist 
Jemsha,  say  I  may  have  her.** 

"  Why,  my  stars  and  garters  I  'tain't  me  yon  ought  for 
to  ask,  it's  Georgey.    Why  didn't  you  ask  herP** 

"  I  have  already  done  so.     I  asked  her  last  evening." 

**  Oh-h-h  !'*  said  Miss  Jerusha,  drawing  in  ner  oreath, 
and  sending  out  the  ejaculation  in  a  perfect  whistle  of  aa- 
tonishment  at  the  new  light  that  dawned  upon  her.    "  I 


174 


RICHMOND  HO  eras 


u   ' 


\i  il 


■ee  DOW.  That*!  what  did  it  I  Well,  I  never  I  And  what 
did  sbo  say  ?" 

"  She  said  what  I  want  you  to  aay — yes.** 

'*  But,  look  here,"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  to  whcm  the  newt 
leemed  a  great  deal  too  good  to  be  true,  **  how  about  that 
there  heiress,  you  know — bey  ?" 

*'  What  heiress  ?"  said  Richmond,  with  a  smile. 

"  Why,  you  know — that  one  everybody  said  you  were 
a-goin*  to  be  married  to— that  one  from  the  city." 

**  Don't  know  the  lady  at  all — never  had  the  pleasure  of 
■eeing  her  in  my  life.  Miss  Jerusha." 

**  Well,  now,  it  seems  to  me  there's  suthin'  wrong  some* 
where,"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  doubtfully  ;  "  why,  you  told 
me  yourself,  Mr.  Wildair,  you  were  going  to  marry  a 
heiress — 'mensely  rich,  you  said.  I  recommember  your 
very  words." 

**  And  so  I  am  ;  but  Georgia  was  the  heiress  I  ment — 
immensely  rich  in  beauty,  and  a  noble,  generous  heart." 

"  Humph  I  poor  sort  o'  riches  to  get  along  in  the  world 
with,"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  rather  cynically.  **  If  you  meant 
Georgey  all  along,  what  made  you  let  folks  think  it  was  to 
somebody  else — that  there  young  woman  from  the  city  ?" 

Richmond  laughed,  and  shook  back  his  dark  clustering 
hair. 

**  From  a  rather  unworthy  motive,  I  must  own.  Miss 
Jerusha.  I  wanted  to  make  Georgia  jealous,  and  so  be 
sure  she  liked  me." 

'*  Wal,  I  never  I  that  tells  the  whole  story.  She  wot 
jealoufi,  and  that  is  what  made  her  as  cross  as  two  sticks. 
Well,  to  be  sure  I  if  it  ain't  funny  !  he  !  he  !  he !" 

And  Miss  Jerusha  indulged  in  a  regular  oaohinnatioi 


0ST3   A    MISTRESS, 


171 


for  the  first  time  that  RiobmoDd  ever  remembered  to  hear 

her. 

''I  am  glad  it  seemit  to  please  yoa.    Then  we  haT« 

your  oonseDt  ?" 

«  Why,  my  graoious,  yea/  I  hain't  the  least  objection. 
I  guess  not.     What  do  your  folks  say  about  it  ?** 

"  My  '  folks '  will  not  object.  I  am  my  own  master, 
Miss  Jerusba.  I  have  written  to  tell  my  mother,  and  I 
know  she  will  not  disapprove  of  any  step  I  see  fit  to  take,*' 
said  Richmond,  composedly. 

"  Well,  railly  I    And  when  is  it  agoin'  to  come  off  ?" 

"  What  r 

•*  Why,  the  weddin',  to  be  sure." 

**  Oh,  there  is  no  use  for  unnecessary  delay.  I  spoke  to 
Georgia  on  the  subject,  and  proposed  Tuesday  fortnight ; 
but  she  seems  to  think  that  too  soon — in  fact,  was  prepos- 
terous enough  to  propose  waiting  until  next  year.  Of 
course,  I  wouldn't  listen  a  moment  to  any  such  proposition." 

**  Of  course  not,"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  decidedly,  thinking 
of  her  brown  silk,  which  she  had  no  notion  of  waiting  for 
so  long. 

«  Do  you  think  Tuesday  fortnight  too  soon  ?" 

**  Gracious,  no !  I  can  get  the  two  dressmakers,  and 
have  everything  ready  before  that,  quite  easy." 

<'  Thank  you,  Miss  Jerusha,"  said  Biclimoiid,  gratefully  ; 
"  and  as  suitable  things  cannot  be  obtained  here,  one  of  the 
dressmakers  you  mention  will  go  with  Mrs.  Hamm  to  the 
city  and  procure  a  bridal  outfit  for  my  peerless  Georgia. 
Neither  shall  you,  my  dear,  kind  frieitd,  be  forgotten  ;  and, 
believe  me,  I  shall  endeavor  to  reward  you  for  all  your 
kindness  to  my  future  bride.  And  now  for  my  plann 
Immediately  after  we  are  married  we  depart  for  New  York, 


m 


mCEMOND    HOUBS 


I 


Hi 


and  remain  for  some  time  with  my  mother  there.  We  irili 
return  here  and  remain  until  the  fall,  when  \7Q  will  depart 
for  Washington,  and  there  spend  the  winter.  Next  year 
we  will  probably  travel  on  the  Continent,  and  after  that— » 
sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof/'  be  said,  breaking 
off  into  a  smile.  "And  noWj,  if  you  like,  you  may  call  Geor- 
gia ;  we  must  reason  her  out  of  this  absurd  notion  of  post- 
poning our  marriage.  I  oouut  upon  your  help,  Miss  Jer* 
usha." 

So  Georgia  was  called,  and  came  down,  looking  a  great 
deal  more  lovely,  if  less  brUliant,  in  her  girlish  blushes,  and 
smiles,  and  shy  timidity  than  she  had  ever  been  when 
arrayed  in  her  haughty  pride.  And  Miss  Jerusha  attacked 
and  overwhelmed  her  with  a  perfect  storm  of  contemptuous 
speeches  at  the  notion  of  putting  off  her  marriage,  quite 
sneering  at  the  idea  of  such  .'\  thing,  and  Kichmond  looked 
so  pleading  that  Georgia,  half  laughing^  and  half  crying, 
and  wholly  against  her  will,  was  forced,  in  self-defense,  to 
strike  her  colors,  and  surrender.  She  was  so  happy  now, 
80  deeply,  intensely  happy,  that  she  shrank  from  the  idea 
of  disturbing  it  by  the  bustle  and  fuss  that  must  come,  and 
sne  looked  forward  shrinkingly,  almost  in  terror,  to  the 
time  when  she  would  be  a  wife,  even  though  it  were  his. 
But  the  promise  was  given,  and  Georgia's  promises  were 
never  letracted,  and  so  the  matter  was  settled. 

Tnat  afternoon  the  stately  little  housekeeper  at  Rich- 
mori  House  was  told  she  was  to  have  a  mistress.  Mrs. 
Hamm  was  altogether  too  well-bred,  and  too  much  of  a 
lady,  to  be  surprised  at  anytl\ng  in  this  world  ;  ^et,  when 
she  heard  her  young  master  was  going  to  marry  a  village 
girl,  a  slight,  a  Vf  ry  slight,  smile  of  contempt  was  con- 
cealed behind  her  delicate  lp.ce-bordered  handkerchief,  but 


GST8   A    MlSTRBSa, 


m 


ihe  qaietly  bowed,  and  professed  her  willingness  tD  start 
for  New  York  at  any  moment.  And  the  very  next  morn- 
ing, accompanied  by  the  dressmaker  Miss  Jerusha  had 
spoken  of,  she  took  her  departure,  with  orders  to  spare  no 
expense  in  procuring  the  bridal  outfit. 

Never  was  there  a  more  restless,  eccentric,  tormenting 
bride-elect  than  Qeorgia.  From  being  positively  wild,  she 
became  superlatively  wildest,  and  drove  Miss  Jerusha  and 
Mr.  Wildair  daily  to  the  verge  of  desperation  for  the  next 
two  weeks.  She  laughed  at  him,  fled  from  him,  refused 
to  take  a  walk  with  him  or  sing  to  him,  and  made  herself 
generally  so  provoking,  that  Richmond  vowed  she  was 
wearing  him  to  a  skeleton,  and  threatened  awful  vengeance 
at  some  period  fast  forthcoming.  And  Georgia  would 
laugh  the  shrill  elfish  laugh  of  her  childhood,  and  fly  up  tc 
her  room,  and  look  herself  in,  and  be  invisible  until  he  had 
gone. 

Georgia  wanted  Emily  to  be  her  bride-maid,  but  whec 
Emily  heard  that  the  Rev.  Mr.  Barebones  was  to  officiate 
on  the  occasion,  she  refused.  Georgia,  who  was  not  partio- 
alar  who  performed  the  ceremony  of  ''  enslaving  her,"  as 
she  called  it,  asked  Richmond  to  allow  Father  Murray  to 
unite  them  ;  but,  to  her  surprise,  Richmond's  brow  dark- 
ened, and  he  positively  refused.  Georgia  was  i  .olined  to 
resent  this  at  first ;  but  then  she  coasidered  it  might  arise 
from  conscientious  scruples,  and  though  she  had  none  of 
ker  own,  yet  she  respected  them  in  others,  and  so  she 
yielded,  and  Miss  Becky  Barebones,  a  gaunt  damsel,  whose 
looks  were  faintly  shadowed  forth  in  her  name,  gladly  con- 
sented to  "stand  up  "  with  her  ;  while  a  young  gentleman 
from  the  city,  a  brother  lawyer  of  Richmond's,  was  to 
perform  the  same  office  for  him. 


ITS 


RICHMOND    E0U8E 


■ 


1  ^ 


]i 


?  I 


1 

I 


And  so  old  Father  Time,  who  jogs  on  unrestingly  and 
never  hurries  for  weddings  or  f anerals,  kept  on  bis  old 
road,  and  brought  the  bridal  morning  at  last.  A  kvel^ 
morning  it  was — a  gorgeous,  golden  September  day,  with 
hills,  and  river,  and  valleys  all  bathed  in  a  golden 
haze  ;  just  the  sort  of  a  day  our  tropical,  wild-eyed  bride 
liked. 

At  early  morning  all  Burnfield  was  astir,  and  crowding 
toward  the  little  sea-side  cot,  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
elegant  bridal  carriage  and  gayly  decked  horses,  and,  per- 
haps, be  fortunate  enough  to  obtain  a  peep  at  the  happy 
pair. 

Inside  the  cottage  all  was  bustle  and  excitement.  Out 
in  the  kitchen  (to  begin  at  the  beginning,  like  the  writer  of 
the  "  House  that  Jack  Built,")  Fly  had  been  ignominiously 
deposed,  to  make  way  for  the  accomplished  cook  from 
Richmond  House,  who  for  the  past  week  had  been  concen- 
trating his  stupendous  intellect  on  the  bridal  breakfast,  and 
had  brought  that  dejeuner  to  a  state  of  perfection  such  as  the 
eye,  nor  heart,  nor  palate  of  man  had  ever  conceived  before. 
There  were  also  the  two  fascinating  young  footmen,  mak- 
ing themselves  generally  useful  with  a  sort  of  lofty  conde- 
scension and  dignified  contempt  for  everything  about 
them,  except  when  they  met  the  withering  eye  of  Miss 
Jerusha,  and  then  they  wilted  down,  and  felt  themselves 
dwindling  down  te  about  five  inches  high.  There  was 
Mrs.  Hamm,  in  black  velvet,  nothing  less,  and  so  stately, 
and  s^^  politely  dignified,  that  the  English  language  is 
utterly  unable  to  do  justice  to  her  grandeur.  There  was 
Miss  Jerusha,  in  rustling  brown  satin,  Ler  wildest  dreams 
realized,  perfectly  awful  in  its  glittering  folds,  enough  to 
strike  terror  into  the  heart  of  a  Zouave,  with  a  flashing  ruby 


BETB   A    M18TRE8& 


171 


brooch,  and  a  miraculons  combioation  of  lace  anl  ribboni 
on  her  head,  all  broke  out  in  a  fiery  eruption  of  flaring  red 
flowers,  which  were  in  violent  contrast  to  her  complexion — 
that  being,  as  the  reader  is  already  aware,  decidedly,  and 
without  compromise,  yellow.  And,  lastly,  there  were  our 
two  friends,  the  Betsey  Periwinkles,  looking  very  much 
astonished,  as  well  they  might,  at  the  sudden  change  that 
had  taken  place  around  them  ;  and,  evidently  considering 
themselves  just  as  good  as  anybody  there,  they  kept  poking 
themselves  in  the  way,  and  tripping  up  the  company  gen- 
erally, and  the  two  fascinating  footmen  in  particular, 
invoking  from  those  nice  individuals  "  curses,  not  loud  bat 
deep."  There  was  the  Rev.  Mr.  Barebones,  gaunt  and  grim 
in  his  piety ;  and  the  Rev.  Mrs.  Barebones,  a  severe  female, 
with  a  hard  jaw  and  stony  eye ;  and  there  was  Mrs.  Tolduso, 
whom  Miss  Jerusha  admitted  jast  to  dazzle  with  her  brown 
satin  ;  and  there  were  ever  so  many  other  people,  until  it 
became  a  matter  of  doubt  whether  the  bridal  party  would 
have  room  to  squeeze  through. 

In  the  hall  stood  Richmond  Wildair,  looking  very  hand- 
some and  very  happy  indeed,  while  he  waited  for  Georgia 
to  descend.  Mr.  Curtis,  his  friend,  resplendent  in  white 
vest  and  kids,  lounged  against  the  staircase,  caressing  his 
mustache,  and  inwardly  raging  that  that  flagstaff  of  a 
Becky  Barebones  was  to  be  h^s  vis-a-vis,  instead  of  sweet, 
blooming  little  Emily  Murray. 

Up  stairs  in  her  <* maiden  bower"  was  our  Georgia, 
under  the  hands  of  Emily,  and  Becky,  and  one  of  the  spruce 
dressmakers,  being  "  arrayed  for  the  sacrifice,"  as  she  per- 
sisted in  calling  it.  And  if  Georgia  Darrell,  in  her  plain 
cottage  dress,  was  beautiful,  the  same  Georgia  in  her  white 
•ilk,  frosted  with  seed  pearls,  enveloped  in  a  mist-like  lac« 


180 


RICHMOND    HOUBE 


, 


vail,  and  bearing  an  orange  wreath  of  flashing  jewels  €■ 
her  regal  head,  was  bewildering,  dazzling  !  There  was  a 
wild,  glittering  light  in  her  splendid  oriental  eyes,  and  a 
crimson  pul»e  kept  beating  in  and  out  like  an  inward  flame 
on  her  dark  cheek,  that  bespoke  anything  but  the  calm, 
perfect  peace  and  joy  of  a  *'  blessed  bride." 

Was  it  a  vague,  shadowy  terror  of  the  now  life  before 
her?  Was  it  distrust  of  him,  distrust  of  herself,  or  a  name- 
less fear  of  the  changes  time  must  bring  ?  She  did  not 
know,  she  could  not  tell ;  but  there  was  a  dread,  a  horror 
of  she  knew  not  what  overshadowing  her  Like  a  cloud.  She 
tried  to  shake  it  off,  but  in  vain  )  she  strove  to  strangle  it 
at  its  birth,  but  it  evaded  her  grasp,  and  loomed  up  a  huge 
misshapen  thing  between  her  mirror  and  the  shining  beau- 
tiful image  in  its  snowy  robes  there  revealed. 

Little  Emily  Murray,  quite  enchanting  in  a  cloud  of 
white  muslin,  and  no  end  of  blue  ribbons,  kept  fleeting 
about,  hardly  knowing  whether  to  laugh  or  or*?'  and  alter- 
nately doing  both.  She  was  so  glad  Georgia  was  going  to 
be  a  great  lady,  and  so  sorry  for  losing  the  friend  she  loved 
that  it  was  hard  to  say  whether  the  laughing  or  crying  had 
the  best  of  it.  And  there,  on  the  other  side,  stood  Miss 
Barebones,  as  stiff  and  upright  as  a  stove-pipe,  in  a  crisp 
AvUlliii^  white  dress  and  frozen-looking  white  lilies  and  pet- 
iiSad  rosebuds  in  her  wiry  yellow  hair,  with  all  the  piety 
^ad  grwi Bess  of  !a:iany  generations  of  Barebones  concen- 
VTiSted  '.li  her 

An  J  nof  aii  in  ready,  and,  <' with  a  smile  on  her  lip  and 
i  1 3  r  in  her  eye,"  Emily  puts  her  arm  around  Georgia's 
waisc  and  turns  to  lead  her  down  stairs,  where  her  lover  so 
impatiently  awaits  the  rising  of  his  day-star,  and  Miss 
Barebones  and  the  trim  little   dressmaker  follow.    And 


QETS   A    MiaTBBBB, 


in 


>lm, 


Georgia  involantarily  holds  her  breath,  and  laj«  her  han^ 
on  her  breast  to  still  her  high  heart-beating  that  oaa 
almost  be  heard,  and  goes  down  and  finds  herself  face  to 
face  with  the  future  lord  of  her  destiny.  And  then  Emily 
kisses  and  relinquishes  her,  and  she  looks  up  with  the  old 
defiant  look  he  knows  so  well  in  his  handsome  young  faoo, 
and  he  smiles  and  whispers  something,  and  draws  her  arm 
within  his  and  turns  to  go  in.  And  then  Mr.  Curtis  swal- 
lows a  grimace,  and  offers  bis  arm  to  Miss  Barebones,  and 
that  wise  maiden  gingerly  lays  the  tips  of  her  white  kid 
glove  on  his  broadcloth  sleeve,  and  with  a  face  of  awfal 
solemnity  is  led  in,  and  the  ceremony  commences.  And  all 
through  it  Georgia  stands  with  her  eyes  burning  into  the 
floor,  and  the  red  spot  coming  and  going  with  every  breai'h 
on  her  cheek,  and  hardly  realizes  that  it  has  oommencoi 
until  it  is  all  over,  and  she  hears,  "  What  Grod  hath  joined 
together  let  no  man  put  asunder."  And  then  thcro  is 
crowding  around  and  a  great  dea'  of  unnecessary  kissing 
done,  and  Emily  and  Miss  Jerut  ^  are  crying,  a^'t)  Mr. 
Curtis  and  Mr.  Barebones,  and  the  rest  are  shaking  hands 
and  calling  her  "  Mrs.  Wildair,'  ^nd  then,  with  a  ihock 
and  a  thrill,  Georgia  realizes  sh      4  married. 

Georgia  Darrell  is  no  more  ;  the  free,  wild,  unfettered 
Georgia  Darrell  has  passed  away  forever,  and  Georgia 
Wildair  is  unfettered  no  loEger  ;  she  has  a  master,  for  she 
has  just  vowed  to  obey  Richmond  Wildair  until  "  death 
doth  them  part."  And  her  hear'  gives  a  great  bound,  and 
then  is  still,  as  she  lifts  her  eyes  in  a  strange  fear  to  hia 
face,  and  sees  him  standing  beside  her  smiling  and  happy, 
and  looking  down  on  her  so  proudly  and  fondly.  And 
Georgia  draws  %  long  breath,  and  wonders  if  other  bridei 
feel  as  the  does,  and  then  she  tries  to  smile,  and  reply  to 


188 


BICRMOND    HOUSE 


Hi 


2i. 


Ml 


i! 


)i 


their  congratulatioDs,  and  the  strange  feeling  gradnally 
passes  away,  and  she  becomes  her  own  bright,  sparkling 
■elf  onoe  more. 

And  now  they  are  all  sitting  down  to  breakfast,  and 
there  is  a  hum  of  voices,  and  rattling  of  knives  and  forka, 
and  a  clatter  of  plates,  and  peals  of  laughter,  and  every- 
body  looks  happy  and  animated,  and  Miss  Jerusha  and 
Emily  dry  their  tears  and  laugh  too,  and  the  fascinating 
footmen  perform  the  impossibility  of  being  in  two  or  three 
places  at  once,  and  speeches  are  made,  and  toasts  are  drank, 
and  Mr.  Wildair  gets  up  and  replies  to  them,  and  thanks 
them  foi  himself  and  his  wife.  His  wife !  How  strange 
!hat  sounds  lo  Georgia.  Then  she  sees  through  it  all,  and 
laughs  and  wonders  at  herself  for  laughing  ;  and  Mr. 
Curtis,  sitting  between  Miss  Barebones  and  Emily  Murray, 
totally  neglect?  *be  former  and  tries  to  be  very  irresistible, 
indeed,  with  the  latter,  and  Emily  laughs  at  all  his  pretty 
speeches,  and  doesn't  seem  the  least  embarrassed  in  the 
world,  and  Miss  Barebones  grows  sourer  and  sourer  until 
her  look  would  have  turned  milk  to  vinegar  ;  but  nobody 
beems  to  mind  her  much.  She  notices,  too,  that  Mr.  Bare* 
bones  perceptibly  thaws  out  under  the  influence  of  sundry 
glasses  of  champagne,  to  that  extent  that  before  breakfast 
is  over  he  refers  to  the  time  when  he  first  met  the  '*  partner 
of  his  buzzum,"  as  he  styles  Mrs.  B.,  and  shed  tears  over 
it.  And  Mrs.  Hamm,  in  her  black  velvet  and  black  lace 
2aiits,  hides  a  sneer  in  her  coffee  cup  at  him,  or  at  them  all, 
and  Miss  Jerusha  is  looking  at  her  with  so  mucL  real  tender- 
ness in  her  eye  that  Georgia  feels  a  pang  of  remorse  as  she 
thinks  how  ungrateful  she  has  been,  and  how  much  Misb 
Jerusha  has  done  for  her.  And  then  she  thinks  of  her 
mother,  and  her  brother  Warren — ^her  dear  brother  Warren 


GETS   A    MiaTBESa. 


->of  whose  fate  she  knows  notbiDg,  and  of  Charley  Wildair 
and  his  unknown  crime,  and  heaves  a  sigh  to  their  memory. 
And  then  Betsey  Periwinkle  the  second  comes  purring 
round  her,  and  Georgia  lifts  her  up  and  kisses  the  beauty 
spot  on  her  forehead,  and  a  bright  tear  is  shining  there 
when  she  lifts  her  head  again,  and  Betsey  purrs  and  blinks 
her  round  staring  eyes  affectionately,  and  then  everybody 
is  standing  up,  and  Mr.  Barebones,  hiccoughing  very  much, 
is  saying  grace,  and  then  she  is  going  up  to  her  room  and 
finds  herself  alone  with  Miss  Jerusha  and  Emily,  who  are 
taking  off  her  bridal  robes  and  putting  on  her  traveling- 
dress. 

And  there  she  is  all  dressed  for  her  journey,  and  Miss 
Jerusha  holds  her  in  her  arms,  and  is  kissing  her,  and 
sobbing  as  if  her  heart  would  break  ;  and  little  Emily  is 
sobbing,  too,  and  Georgia  feels  a  dreary,  aching  pain  at 
her  heart,  at  the  thought  of  leaving  her  forever — for 
though  she  is  coming  back,  they  can  never  be  the  same  to 
one  another  again  in  this  world  that  they  are  now — but  her 
eyes  are  dry.  And  then  Miss  Jerusha  kisses  her  for  the  last 
time,  and  blesses  her,  and  lets  her  go,  and  she  follows  her 
down  stairs,  where  Richmond  awaits  her,  to  lead  her  to  the 
carriage.  And  then  there  is  more  shaking  of  hands,  until 
Georgia's  arm  aches,  and  a  great  deal  of  good-bying  and 
some  more  female  kissing,  and  then  she  takes  her  husband's 
arm  and  walks  down  the  graveled  walk  to  the  carriage. 
A«:d  on  the  way  she  wonders  what  kind  of  a  person  Mrs. 
Wildair,  Richmond's'  mother,  may  be,  and  whether  she  will 
like  her  new  daughter,  and  whether  that  daughter  will  like 
her.  And  now  she  is  sitting  in  the  carriage,  waving  a  last 
adieu,  and  the  carriage  starts  off,  and  she  springs  forward 
and  looks  after  the  oottage  until  it  is  out  of  sight.     And 


•1 


184 


AWAKBNUrG. 


. 


then  she  falls  back  in  her  seat  and  covers  her  fioe  witk 
her  hands,  with  a  vague  sense  of  some  great  loss.  Bat 
that  picture  she  never  forgets,  of  the  little  vine-wre&thed 
'*ottage,  with  its  crowd  of  faces  gazing  after  her,  and  Miia 
Jerusha  and  little  Emily  crying  at  the  gate.  How  she  re- 
members it  in  after  days — in  those  dark,  dreadful  days,  the 
shadow  of  whose  coming  darkness  even  then  was  upon  her! 
They  are  whirling  away,  and  away.  She  takes  her 
hands  from  her  face  and  looks  up.  They  are  flying 
through  Burnfield  now,  and  she  catches  a  glimpse  of  the 
stately  arches  and  carved  gables  of  Richmond  House,  her 
future  home,  and  then  that,  too,  disappears.  They  are  at 
the  station,  in  the  cars,  with  a  crowd  of  others,  but  she 
neither  sees  nor  cares  for  their  curious  scrutiny  now.  The 
locomotive  shrieks,  the  bell  rings,  and  away  and  away  they 
fly.  She  falls  back  in  her  seat,  and  Georgia  his  lef4  tlM 
home  of  her  ohildhood  forever. 


CHAPTER  XHL 

▲WAKBNINO. 

'*  Her  cheek  too  quickly  flushes  ;  o*er  her  eye 
The  lights  and  shadows  come  and  go  too  fast, 
And  tears  gush  forth  too  soon,  and  in  her  voiee 
Are  sounds  of  tenderness  too  passionate 
For  peace  on  earth." 

BELIEV^i  the  established  and  time-honored 
precedei       i  writing  stories  is  to  bring  the  chief 
charactr       ifely  through  sundry  *' hair-breath 
japes     jy  flood    and    fleid,'*  annihilate    the 
vicious,  make     irtue  triumphant,  marry  the  heroine,  and 


AWAKENING. 


1» 


then,  with  a  grand  final  flourish  of  tmrnpetA,  the  tale 
endi. 

Now,  I  hope  none  of  my  readers  will  be  disappointed  if 
in  this  *'  o'er  true  tale  "  I  depart  from  this  established  rule. 
My  heroine  vs  married,  but  the  history  of  her  life  cannot 
end  here.  Perhaps  it  would  be  as  well  if  it  could,  but 
truth  compels  me  to  go  on  and  depict  the  dark  as  well  as  the 
bright  side  of  a  fiery  yet  generous  nature — a  nature  common 
enough  in  this  world,  subject  to  error  and  weakness  as  we 
all  are,  and  not  in  the  least  like  one  of  those  impossible 
angels  oftener  read  of  than  seen. 

Jane  Eyre  says  a  new  chapter  is  like  a  new  scene  in  a 
play.  When  the  curtain  rises  this  time,  it  discloses  an 
elegantly  furnished  parlor,  with  pictures  and  lounges,  and 
easy-chairs,  and  mirrors,  and  damask  hangings,  and  all 
the  other  paraphernalia  of  a  well-furnished  room — time, 
ten  o'clock  in  the  morning.  A  cheerful  fire  burns  in  the 
polished  grate,  for  it  is  a  clear,  cold  December  day,  and 
diffuses  a  genial  warmth  through  the  cozy  apartment. 

In  the  middle  of  the  floor  stands  a  little  round  table, 
nrith  a  delicate  breakfast-service  of  Sevres  china  and  silver, 
whereon  steams  most  fragrant  Mocha,  appetizing,  nice  waf- 
fles, and  sundry  other  tempting  edibles.  Presiding  here  is 
a  lady,  young  and  ''  beautiful  exceedingly,'*  robed  in  a  rich 
white  cashmere  morning  wrapper,  confined  at  the  slender 
waist  by  a  scarlet  cord  and  taoBeis,  and  at  the  ivory  throat 
by  a  flashing  diamond  breastpin.  Her  shining  jet-black 
hair  is  brushed  in  smooth  bands  off  her  broad,  queenly 
brow,  and  the  damp  braid  just  touches  the  rounded,  flushed 
cheek.  Very  handsome  and  stately  indeed  she  looks,  yet 
with  a  sort  of  listless  languor  pervading  ner  every  move- 
ment, whether  she  lounges  back  in  her  chair,  or  slowly 


186 


AWAKENINQ, 


.1 


Btirs  her  coffee  with  her  small,  dark  tand,  fairly  biasiiv^ 
with  jewels. 

Opposite  her  sits  a  young  gentleman  of  commanding 
presence  and  graceful  bearing,  who  alternately  talks  to  the 
lady,  sips  his  coffee,  and  reads  the  morning  paper. 

**  Do  put  away  that  tiresome  paper,  Richmond,''  said 
the  lady,  at  last,  half  impatiently.     '*  I  don^t  see  what  yoa 
can  possibly  find  to  interest  you  in  those  farming  detaili 
and  receipts  for  curing  spasms  in  horses,  and  making  uen 
lay.     Of  all  stupid  things  those  country  papers  are  th« 
stupidest." 

"  Except  those  who  read  them,"  said  the  gtbtleman, 
laughing.  "  Well,  I  bow  to  your  superior  wiidom,  and 
obey,  like  a  well-trained  husband.  And  now^  what  a^e 
your  ladyship's  commands  ?" 

"  Talk,"  said  the  lady,  yawning  behind  the  tips  of  he? 
Angers. 

«  Willingly,  my  dear.  On  what  subject  ?  I  am  ready 
to  talk  to  order  at  a  moment's  notice." 

''Well,  I  want  to  know  if  you  have  given  up  that 
Washington  project?  Are  we  to  spend  the  winter  m 
Burnfield  V" 

"  I  think  so— yes,"  said  Richmond,  slowly.  "  It  will  be 
better,  all  things  considered,  that  we  should  do  so,  and 
early  in  the  spring  we  will  start  on  our  continental  tour. 
Are  you  disappointed  at  this  arrangement,  Georgia  ?" 

"Disappointed?  Oh,  no,  no."  said  Georgia,  with 
sparkling  eyes.  "  I  am  so  glad,  Richmond  It  seems  so 
pleasant,  and  somnch  like  home  to  be  here,  with  no  strange 
faces  around  us,  and  all  those  dreadful  restraints  and  for- 
malities at  an  end.  I  was  ao  tired  of  them  all  in  New 
York." 


AWAKENUm. 


197 


*  And  yet  you  used  to  long  so  ardently  toi  life  in  thoM 
large  cities  some  time  ago,  Georgia.  Now  York  wai  a 
Paradise  in  your  eyes — do  you  remember  ?" 

**  Oh,  yes,"  said  Georgia,  laughing  ;  **  but  that  was  be- 
cause I  know  nothing  aboufc  it.  I  was  dreadfully  tired  of 
Burnfield,  and  longed  so  for  a  change.  <  Tis  distance 
lends  enchantment  to  the  view,'  you  know,  and  the  antic- 
ipation was  somewhat  different  from  the  reality." 

"  You  did  not  like  the  reality  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Georgia,  with  her  osaal  truthfol  prompt- 
ness. 

"  And  yet  I  did  everything  to  make  you  happy — you 
never  expressed  a  wish  that  I  did  not  gratify." 

Tears  sprang  to  Georgia's  eyes  at  the  implied  reproach. 

*'  Dear  Richmond,  I  know  it.  It  seems  very  ungrate- 
ful in  me  to  talk  so  ;  but  you  know  what  I  mean.  I  do 
not  like  strangers,  and  I  met  so  many  there  ;  there  were  so 
many  restraints,  and  formalities,  and  wearying  ceremonies 
to  be  gone  through,  that  I  used  to  grow  almost  wild  some- 
times, and  feel  as  if  I  wanted  to  rush  out  and  fly,  fly  back 
to  dear  old  Burnfield  again,  and  never  leave  it.  And  then, 
those  ladies  were  all  so  elegant  and  grand,  and  could  keep 
on  saying  graceful  nothings  for  hours,  while  I  sat  mute, 
tongue-tied,  unable  to  utter  a  word  of  '  small  talk,'  and 
feeling  awkward  lest  I  should  disgrace  you  by  some  dread- 
ful gaucherie.  Oh,  Richmond,  I  was  so  proud,  and  fear- 
less, and  independent  before  I  was  married." 

"  Too  much  80,  Georgia,"  he  interrupted,  gravely. 

"  And  now,"  she  went  on,  unheeding  his  words,  save  by 
the  deeper  flush  of  her  cheek.  **  I  am  almost  timid,  for 
your  sake.    When  I  was  among  all  those  people  in  New 


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AWAKENINO. 


York  I  did  not  care  for  myself,  but  I  wab  so  afraid  •! 
mortifying  you.  I  knew  they  used  to  watch  Richmond 
Wildair's  country  bride  to  catch  her  in  some  outlandish  act ; 
and,  oh,  Richmond,  when  I  would  think  of  it,  and  find  so 
many  curious  eyes  watching  me,  as  if  I  were  some  strange 
wild  animal,  I  used  to  grow  positively  nervous — I,  that 
never  knew  what  nerves  were  before,  and  I  used  to  wish — 
don't  be  angry,  Richmond — that  I  had  never  married  you 
at  all.  You  used  to  call  me  an  eaglet,  Richmond,  and  I 
felt  then  like  one  chained  and  fettered,  and  I  think  I 
Bh<>uld  have  died  if  you  had  made  me  stay  there  all  winter." 

There  was  a  passionate  earnestness  in  her  voice  that 
did  not  escape  him,  but  he  answered  lightly  : 

"Died  1  Pooh  I  don't  be  silly,  Georgia.  I  did  see  that 
you  were  painfully  anxious  at  times,  so  much  so  that  you 
even  made  me  nervous  as  well  as  yourself.  You  must  over- 
come this  ;  you  must  learn  to  be  at  ease.  Remember,  those 
are  the  people  with  whom  you  are  to  mingle  for  the  rest  of 
your  life — not  the  common  folks  of  Burnfield." 

"  They  are  a  stiff,  artificial  set.  I  don't  like  them  I" 
said  Georgia,  impetuously. 

Richmond's  brow  darkened. 

"  Georgia  I"  he  said,  coldly. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  because  I  have  not  become  accustomed 
to  my  new  position.  Any  one  suddenly  raised  from  one 
sphere  of  life  to  another  diametrically  opposite,  must  feel 
strange  and  out  of  place.  Why,  Richmond,"  she  said, 
smiling,  "  I  am  not  even  accustomed  to  that  grand  little 
housekeeper  of  yours  yet.  Her  cold,  stately  magnificence 
overwhelms  me.  When  she  comes  to  me  for  orders,  I 
fairly  blush,  and  have  to  look  at  my  diamonds  and  silks, 
and  recollect  I  am  Mrs.  Wildair,  of  Richmond  House,  to 


AWAKENING, 


188 


keep  my  dignity.  It  is  rather  uncomfortable,  all  this ;  bat 
time,  that  works  wonders,  will,  I  have  no  doubt,  make  ma 
as  stiff,  and  solemn,  and  sublimely  grand,  as  eyen — Mrs. 
Hamm." 

His  face  wore  no  answering  smile ;  be  was  very  graye. 

"  You  are  not  angry,  Richmond  ?"  she  said,  depreca- 
tingly. 

"  Not  angry,  Georgia,  but  annoyed.  I  do  not  like  thia 
state  of  things.  My  wife  must  be  self-possessed  and  lady- 
like as  well  as  handsome.  You  muM  lose  this  country  gir. 
awkwardness,  and  learn  to  move  easily  and  gracefully  ic 
your  new  sphere.  You  must  learn  to  sit  at  the  bead  of  my 
table,  and  do  the  honors  of  my  house  as  becomes  one  whom 
I  have  seen  fit  to  raise  to  the  position  of  my  wife." 

"  Raise  1"  exclaimed  Georgia,  with  one  of  her  old 
flashes,  and  a  haughty  lift  of  her  head. 

"  In  a  worldly  point  of  view,  I  mean.  Physically,  men- 
tally, and  morally,  you  are  my  equal;  but  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world,  I  have  made  a  mesalliance;  and  that  world  whose 
authority  I  have  spumed  is  malicious  enough  to  witness 
with  delight  your  rustic  shyness,  to  call  it  by  no  more 
mortifying  name.  Georgia,  I  knew  from  the  moment  I 
first  presented  you  to  my  mother  that  this  explanation 
must  come  ;  but,  knowing  your  high  spirit,  I  had  too 
much  affection  for  you  to  speak  of  it  sooner,  and  if  I  wound 
your  feelings  now,  beneve  me,  it  is  to  make  you  happier 
afterward.  You  are  too  impulsive,  and  have  not  dissimu- 
lation enough,  Georgia ;  your  open  and  unconcealed  dis- 
like for  some  of  those  you  met  in  town  made  yon  many 
enemies — did  you  know  it  ?" 

<*  Yes,  I  knew  it ;  and  this  enmity  was  more  Mo«ptabl« 
to  me  than  their  friendship  !"  flashed  G^rgia. 


i  I 


; 


I     ?■ 


:ii 


190 


AWAKENING 


"  But  not  to  me.  It  is  better  to  have  a  dog  fawn  on 
you  than  bark  at  you,  Georgia.  I  do  not  say  to  you  to  like 
them,  but  you  might  have  concealed  your  tZislike.  A 
amile  and  courteous  word  costs  little,  and  it  might  have 
saved  you  many  a  bitter  sneer." 

"  I  cannot  dissimulate  ;  I  never  dissimulated  ;  I  never 
did  anything  so  mean  !"  said  Georgia,  passionately. 

**  There  is  no  meanness  about  it,  Mrs.  Wildair,  and  you 
might  have  spared  the  insinuation  that  I  could  urge  you  to 
do  anything  mean.  Common  politeness  requires  that  you 
should  be  courteous  to  all,  and  I  hope  you  will  not  mortify 
me  again  by  any  public  display  of  your  likes  and  dislikes." 

Georgia  arose  impetuously  from  the  table,  and,  with  a 
burning  cheek  and  flashing  eye,  walked  to  the  window. 
What  words  can  tell  of  the  8tornr>  raging  within  her  wild, 
proud  heart,  as  she  listened  to  his  authoritative  tone  and 
words  ? 

"  It  is  necessary,  too,  that  you  should  by  degrees  grow 
accustomed  to  what  you  call  your  strange  position,"  he 
calmly  went  on,  "  before  you  enter  the  fashionable  world 
at  Washington,  where  you  will  make  what  you  may  call 
your  debut.  For  that  reason,  while  in  New  York,  I  invited 
a  party  of  friends  here  to  spend  Christmas  and  New  Year's, 
arid  you  may  expect  them  here  now  in  less  than  a  week." 

She  faced  round  as  if  her  feet  were  furnished  with  steel 
■priogs,  every  feeling  of  rebellion  roused  into  life  at  last. 

"You  did  ?    And  without  consulting  me  ?" 

"  Certainly,  my  dear.  Have  I  not  a  right  to  ask  my 
friends  to  my  bouse  ?" 

She  laid  her  hand  on  her  breast,  as  if  to  keep  the  storm 
within  from  breaking  forth ;  but  he  saw  it  Ib  the  working* 
of  her  f  iioe. 


AWAKENING, 


IN 


"  Come,  Georgia,  be  reasonable,"  he  said  quietij.  "1 
am  sorry  this  annoys  you,  but  it  is  absolutely  necessary. 
Why,  one  would  think,  by  your  looks  and  actions,  I  was 
some  monstrous  tyrant,  instead  of  a  husband  who  loves  yon 
■o  well  that  he  is  willing  to  sacrifice  his  own  fondness  for 
solitude  and  quiet,  that  you  may  acquire  the  habits  of  good 
society." 

She  did  not  speak.  His  words  had  wounded  her  pride 
too  deeply  to  be  healed  by  his  gentle  tone. 

"  Well,  Georgia  ?"  he  said,  after  a  pause. 

She  turned  her  face  to  the  window,  and  asked,  huskily  ; 

"  Who  are  coming  ?" 

"My  mother  and  cousin,  the  Arlinfords,  Mrs.  Harpei 
and  her  two  daughters.  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Gleason,  and 
their  two  sons.  Miss  Reid,  and  Mr.  Lester." 

«  All  I  dislike  most." 

"  All  you  dislike  most,  Mrs.  Wildair  ?"  he  said,  coolly. 
♦'  What  am  I  to  understand  by  that  ?" 

"  What  I  say.  I  have  not  yet  learned  to  dissimnlate," 
she  said,  bitterly. 

"  Really,  Mrs.  Wildair,  this  is  pleasant.  I  presume  yon 
forget  my  mother." 

Georgia  was  silent. 

"  Am  I  to  understand,  Mrs.  Wildair,  that  my  mother  it 
included  in  the  catalogue  of  those  you  dislike  ?" 

Georgia  did  not  speak. 

"  Mrs.  Wildair,"  he  said,  calmly,  "  will  it  please  you  to 
reply  ?    I  am  accustomed  to  be  answered  when  I  speak." 

"  Oh,  Richmond,  don't  ask  me.  How  can  I  help  it  f  I 
tried  to  like  your  mother,  but — " 

Her  voice  choked,  and  she  stopped. 


1 


!  \\ 


V. 

■i] 


I    :  IS 


v^ 


19S 


AWAKimiJiG. 


He  went  over,  and  lifted  the  face  she  had  coyered  will 
her  hands,  and  looked  into  it  wiili  a  smile. 

"  But  you  failed.     You  did  not  understand  each  other. 
Well,  never  mind,  Georgia  ;  you  will  like  each  other  better 
by  and  by.     You  will  have  to  do  so,  as  she  is  going  to  liv 
with  us  altogether." 

"  Whatr 

**  My  dear,  be  calm.  How  intensely  excitable  you  are  I 
Certainly,  she  will  live  here  :  she  is  all  alone  now,  you 
know — she  and  my  cousin  ;  and  is  it  not  natural  that  this 
should  be  their  home  ?" 

"  Your  couaiUf  too  f^ 

**  Of  course.  Why,  Georgia,  you  might  have  known  it. 
They  are  my  only  relatives,  for  he  who  was  once  my  brother 
is  dead  to  us  all.  Georgia,  is  it  possible  you  hate  my  mother 
and  cousin  ?" 

He  spoke  in  a  tone  so  surprised  and  grieved  that  Georgia 
was  touched.  Forcing  a  smile,  she  looked  up  in  his  grave 
face,  and  said  : 

**  Oh,  Richmond,  I  did  not  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings  ; 
forgive  me  if  I  have  done  so.  I  will  try  to  like  all  your 
friends,  because  they  are  yours.  I  will  try  to  tutor  this 
undisciplined  heart,  and  be  all  you  could  wish.  It  startled 
me  at  first,  that  is  all.  It  was  so  pleasant  here,  with  no 
one  but  ourselves,  and  I  was  so  happy  since  our  return,  that 
I  forgot  it  could  not  always  last.  Yes,  indeed,  Richmond, 
I  toiU  like  your  mother  and  cousin,  and  try  to  be  as  urbane 
and  courteous  to  all  our  guests  as  even  you  are.  Am  I  for- 
given  now,  Richmond  ?" 

Half  an  hour  later,  Georgia  was  alone  in  her  own  room, 
lying  prostrate  on  a  couch,  with  her  face  buried  in  the 
cushions,  perfectly  still,  but  for  the  sort  of  shiver  that  ran 


AWAXENINQ. 


IM 


with 


at  intervals  through  her  slight  frame  It  was  their  first 
quarrel,  or  anything  approaching  a  quarrel,  and  Georgia 
had  been  crushed,  wounded,  and  humiliated,  as  she  had 
never  been  before  in  her  life.  It  may  seem  a  slight  thing  ; 
but  in  her  pride  she  was  so  acutely  aensitive,  that  now  she 
lay  in  a  sort  of  anguish,  with  her  hands  clasped  over  hef 
heart,  as  if  to  still  its  tumultuous  throbbings,  looking  for- 
ward with  a  dread  that  was  almost  horror  to  the  coming  of 
all  those  strangers,  but  more  than  all,  to  the  coming  of 
her  husband's  mother  and  cousin. 

AH  that  day  she  was  changed,  and  was  as  haughty  and 
self-possessed  as  any  of  those  fine  ladies,  her  husband's 
friends.  The  calm,  dignified  politeness  of  Mrs.  Hamm 
looked  like  impudence  to  her  in  her  present  mood,  and 
when  that  frigid  little  lady  came  to  ask  about  dinner,  there 
were  two  burning  spots  on  Georgia's  cheeks,  and  a  high, 
ringing  tone  of  command  in  her  voice  that  made  Mrs. 
Hamm  open  her  languid  eyes  in  faint  amaze,  which  was  as 
far  as  she  could  ever  go  in  the  way  of  astonishment. 

Late  that  evening,  as  she  sat  in  the  drawing-room,  prac- 
ticing her  music  lesson, — for  she  was  learning  music  now, 
— Emily  Murray  was  announced,  and  the  next  moment, 
bright,  breezy,  smiling,  and  sunshiny,  she  came  dancing  in, 
like  an  embodied  sunbeam. 

"Mother's  been  over  spending  the  afternoon  with 
Miss  Jerusha,"  said  Emily,  "  and  I  felt  so  lonesome  at  home 
that  I  overcame  my  awe  of  Richmond  House  and  its  grand 
Inmates,  and  thought  I  would  run  up  and  see  you.  Hope, 
like  Paul  Pry,  I  do  not  intrude  ?" 

Georgia's  reply  was  a  kiss.  She  had  been  feeling  so  sad 
all  day  that  her  heart  gave  a  glad  bound  at  sight  of  Emily. 
Why,  what's  the  matter,  Georgie  ?  You  look  pale  an^ 
9 


u 


194 


AWAKEiny'S 


!   I 


troubled.  What  has  happened?"  said  "Cmily,  bar  affeo« 
tionate  ejes  discovering  the  change  in  her  fripna*«  tell-tale 
face. 

'^Nothing;  at  least,  not  mnch.  I  am  a  little  oat  of 
spirits  to-day  ;  everyone  is  at  times,"  said  Georgia,  with  a 
faint  smile.  "My  moods  were  always  changeable,  you 
know." 

"Well,  I  hope  you  will  not  acquire  that  anxious,  worried 
look  most  housekeepers  wear,"  said  Emily,  gayly.  "  You 
have  it  exactly  now,  and  it  quite  spoils  your  beauty.  Come, 
smile  and  look  pleasant,  and  tell  me  all  about  your  journey 
to  New  York.     Did  you  have  a  good  time  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Georgia,  coloring  slightly;  "I  enjoyed 
myself  pretty  well.  We  went  to  the  theater  and  opera 
almost  every  night,  and  I  went  to  a  great  many  parties  of 
one  kind  and  another.  But  Burnfield's  home  after  all,  and 
there  was  no  Emily  in  New  York  city." 

" Flatter 3r  I"  said  Emily,  laughing  ;  "and  did  you  see 
Mr.  Wildair's  relatives  there,  too  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Georgia,  in  a  changed  tone.  "  He  has  no 
relatives  but  his  mother  and  a  certain  Miss  Richmond,  a 
cousin  of  his,  and  an  orphan." 

"  You  forget  his  brother — our  old  friend  Charley  ?•* 

"  He  is  not  at  home  now — I  have  not  even  heard  hli 
name  mentioned  for  many  a  day." 

"Indeed?"  said  Emily,  surprised.  "How  is  that?  I 
feel  an  interest  in  him,  you  know,"  she  added,  laughing  ; 
"  he  was  so  handsome,  and  droll,  and  winning — twice  as 
uice,  with  reverence  be  it  said,  as  your  grave,  stately  liege 
lord." 

"  Well,  it  appears  he  did  something.  I  never  heard 
what,  but  Richmond  says  he  disgra'»*v!  the  family  and  tbey 


11  \ 


AWAKENING. 


106 


have  disowned  him.  What  his  fault  is  I  do  not  kno^r,  but 
one  of  the  effects  of  it  is,  that  he  has  'ost  the  inheritance 
Squire  Richmond  Jeft  him.  You  see  the  way  it  was,  my 
husband  inherited  all  the  landed  property  and  half  the  bank 
stock,  and  Charley  the  remaining  half.  Not  a  very  fair 
division,  you  will  say  ;  but  as  Richmond  bore  the  family 
name,  and  was  more  after  his  uncle's  heart  than  his  wilder 
brother,  the  old  gentleman  saw  fit  to  leave  him  most.  As 
the  bank  stock  was  large,  however,  Charley's  fortune  was 
no  trifle  ;  but  to  it  certain  conditions  were  annexed,  namely: 
that  he  should  marry  this  young  lady  cousin.  Miss  Rich- 
mond, and  take  the  family  name  before  he  went  abroad. 
Charley  only  laughed  at  it,  and  declared  his  perfect  willing- 
ness to  marry  *  Freddy* — her  name  is  Fredrica — who  would 
be  handy  to  have  about  the  house,  he  said,  to  pull  off  his 
boots,  sew  on  buttons,  and  sing  him  to  sleep  of  an  after- 
Qoon,  Miss  Richmond,  on  her  part,  made  no  objection,  and 
that  matter  seemed  settled  ;  but  whatever  he  has  done,  it 
has  completely  broken  up  the  whole  affair,  and  his  share 
comes  to  Richmond  along  with  his  own.  So,  my  dear 
little  snow-flake,  that  is  all  I  know  of  your  handsome 
Charley,"  concluded  Georgia,  with  her  own  bright  smile. 

"  It  is  all  very  strange,"  said  Emily,  musingly  ;  "  and  I 
cannot  realize  that  the  gay,  careless,  but  ever  kind  youth 
that  we  knew,  and  whom  everybody  loved,  has  become 
fallen  and  degraded,  as  all  this  would  seem  to  imply. 
What  sort  of  a  person  is  this  Miss  Richmond  he  was  to 
marry  ?" 

Georgia's  beantifnl  lip  curled  with  a  scorn  too  intense 
for  words. 

"  She  is  a —  But,  as  I  cannot  XqA  my  impressions  of  her 
irithont  speaking  ill  of  the  absent,  I  will  be  silent.    In  a 


Ii  fl 


i1 


!l 


(ii 


196 


AWAKBNlNa. 


few  days  you  will  nave  a  chance  to  see  hei  for  yonrself,  m 
she  is  coming  here  to  live/* 

'*  Indeed  \"  said  Emily,  slowly,  fixing  her  eyes  anxiously 
on  Georgia's  face — "  indeed  I  Would  you  not  be  happier 
without  her?" 

*^  That  is  not  the  question,''  said  Georgia,  in  a  tone  of 
reserve,  for  she  was  too  proud  to  let  even  Emily  know  how 
much  she  disliked  this  visit ;  **  it  will  not  do  for  Richmond 
and  me  to  make  hermits  of  ourselves  altogether,  you  know, 
so  a  large  party  from  the  city  are  coming  here  to  spend 
Christmas.  And,  Emily,  I  want  you  to  come  tco  ;  they  are 
all  more  or  loss  strangers  to  me,  and  it  will  be  such  a  com- 
fort to  look  on  your  dear,  familiar  face  when  I  grow  tired 
of  playing  the  hostess  to  all  those  grand  folks.  Say,  little 
darling,  will  you  come  ?" 

The  dark  eyes  were  raised  with  such  a  look  of  earnest 
entreaty  to  her  face  that  Emily  stooped  down  and  kissed 
the  pleading  lips  before  she  answered. 

"  Dear  Georgia,  I  cannot ;  I  would  not  be  happy  among 
80  many  strangers — I  should  feel  like  a  fish  out  of  water, 
you  know.  We  can  meet  often  when  no  strange  eyes  are 
looking  on  ;  they  would  not  understand  us,  nor  we  them, 
Georgia.  And  now,  good-by  ;  Uncle  Edward  is  coming  to 
tea,  so  I  must  hurry  home." 

She  was  gone.  The  airy  little  form  and  bright  face 
flashed  out  of  the  door,  and  Georgia  felt  as  if  all  the  sun- 
shine in  that  grand,  cold  room  had  gone  with  her.  Im- 
patiently she  rose  from  the  piano,  and  with  a  rebellions 
rising  in  her  heart,  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  oat 
with  a  darkening  brow. 

"  She  shrinks  from  meeting  this  crowd — so  do  L  She 
need  not  meet  them,  but  I  have  to— I  must.    Oh  I  latef al 


1 


AWAKENINO, 


vtn 


word.     If  there  was  a  eingle  bond  of  sympathy  betwoea 

me  aiid  one  of  them — but  there  is  not.     They  come  here  to 

critioise  and  sneer  at  Richmond  Wildair's  country  bride— > 

to  have  a  good  subject  to  laugh  over  when  they  gc  back  to 

the  city.     Richmond  says  I  am  morbid  on  this  subject,  bat 

I  am   not.    And  that  cousin,  loo — that  smooth  silvery- 

Toiced,  oily  little  cheat.     Oh  I  why,  why  did  he  invite  hei 

here  ?    I  hate  her — I  loathe  her.     I  shrank  from  her  th« 

moment  I  first  saw  her,  with  her  snake-like  movements  and 

fawning  smile.     And  she  is  to  live  here  ;  to  spy  upon  me 

night  and  day  ;  to  drive  me  wild  with  her  cringing  servility, 

hiding  her  mockery  and  covert  sneers.     I  think  I  could  gel 

along  with  his  mother,  with  all  her  open  scorn  and  super* 

cilious  contempt ;  galling  as  it  is,  it  is  at  least  open,  and 

not  mean,  prying  and  treacherous  ;  but  this  horrid,  despiC' 

able  cousin   that  I  loathe  even  more  than  I  hate — oh  I  I 

dread  her  coming ;  I  shrink  from  it ;  it  makes  my  fiesfa 

creep  to  think  of  it.     Oh,  Richmond  I  if  you  knew  how  1 

detest  this  earthworm  of  a  cousin,  would  yon  ever  have 

invited  her  here?    Yes,  I  know  he  would.   I  feel  he  would. 

He  would  be  shocked,  horrified,  indignant,  if  he  knew  how 

I  feel  on  the  subject ;  so  he  shall  never  know.     He  would 

think  it  my  duty  to  overcome  this  sinful  feeling,  and  insist 

upon  my  being  doubly  kind  to  her  to  atone  for  it.     He 

likes  her — so  does  his  mother — so  does  every  one  else  ;  they 

believe  in  her  silky  smile,  her  soft,  treacherous  voice,  and 

cat-like  step,  and  mean,  underhand  fawning  ;  but  I — I  see 

through  her,  and  she  knows  it.     She  dislikes  me.     I  saw 

that  through  all  her  cringing,  officious  attentions  and  pro* 

fessions  of  affection,  and  only  loathed  her  the  m'^e. 

"  Oh  I"  cried  Georgia,  pacing  up  and  down  tHe  room, 
"this   is,  indeed,   awakening  from    my  delusive  dream. 


IW 


AWAKSNINO. 


Perhaps  I  am  too  sensitive — Riohmond  says  I  am  ;  bat  I 
canuot  help  feeling  so.  I  was  so  perfectly  bappy  since  our 
return,  but  now  it  is  at  an  end.  Our  delicious  solitude  is 
to  be  invaded  by  those  cold,  unsympatbizing  worldlings, 
wbo  come  bere  to  gratify  their  curiosity  and  see  bow  the 
awkward  country  girl  will  do  the  honors  of  stately  Rich- 
mond country-house.  Oh  !  why  am  /not  sufficic^nt  ?  Why 
need  he  invite  all  these  people  here  ?  But  I  forget  they  are 
his  friends  ;  they  are  to  him  what  Emily  Murray  is  to  me. 
Dear,  loving,  happy  little  Emily  1  with  her  calm,  seraphio 
eyes,  and  pure,  serene  brow.  What  is  the  secret  of  her 
inward  happiness  ?  How  different  she  is  from  me  ;  even  in 
childhood  none  of  those  storms  of  passion  agitated  her,  that 
distracted  my  tempestuous  youth.  Can  it  be  that  Chris- 
tianity,  in  which  she  so  implicity  believes,  has  anything  to 
do  with  this  perfect  peace?  1$  there  a  heaven?"  she  said, 
going  back  to  the  window  and  looking  gloomily  out. 
"  Sometimes  I  have  doubted  it ;  and  yet  there  ought  to  be. 
Our  best  happiness  in  this  world  if  so  short,  so  feverish,  so 
fleeting,  and  the  earthly  strife  is  so  long,  and  wearisome, 
and  sorrowful,  that  we  need  perfect  rest  and  peace  some- 
where. Two  short  months  ago  I  was  so  happy — oh,  so 
happy  ! — and  now,  at  this  first  slight  trial,  my  heart  lies 
like  lead  in  my  bosom.  How  false  the  dazzling  glitter  of 
this  world  is  1" 

And,  as  if  involuntarily,  she  murmured  the  beautiful 
words  of  Moore  : 


« 


i 


**TbiB  world  is  all  a  fleeting  show, 
For  man's  illfision  given  ; 
The  smiles  of  joy,  the  tears  of  woe 
Deceitful  shine,  deceitful  flow, 
There's  nothing  true  but  HeaveK.** 


;   bat  I 
jince  our 
dude  is 
•Idlings, 
ow  the 
y  Rich- 
?  Why 
hey  are 
to  me. 
eraphio 
of  her 
even  in 
»er,  that 
t  Chris- 
hing  to 
he  said, 

ly  out. 
ii  to  be. 
'nsh,  so 
risome, 
B  some' 

-oh,    80 

irt  lies 
tter  of 

mtifnj 


AWAKEyiNO. 


IW 


There  was  an  unusual  shadow  on  litt.e  Emily  Murray's 
face  too,  that  day,  as  she  went  homo.  She  was  thiukiog 
of  Georgia.  The  eyes  of  affection  are  not  easily  blindi^d, 
and  she  saw  that  under  all  her  proud,  reserved  exterior,  her 
friend  was  unhappy. 

"  I  know  she  dreads  the  coming  of  all  those  people  from 
the  city,  Uncle  Edward,"  she  said  that  evening  to  Father 
Murray,  as  she  sat  busily  sewing  at  the  table. 

"  Poor  child  I"  said  the  kind  old  clergyman.  **  I  feared 
from  the  first  this  marriage  would  not  contribute  much  to 
her  happiness.  Not  that  it  is  Mr.  Wildair's  fault ;  he 
me^utt  well,  and  really  does  all  for  the  best;  but  your  friend, 
Emily,  is  peculiar.  She  is  morbidly  proud  and  intensely 
sensitive,  and  has  a  dread  amounting  to  horror  of  being 
ridiculed.  People  of  her  nature  are  rarely,  if  ever,  per- 
fectly happy  in  this  world ;  they  are  self-torturers,  and 
their  happiness  comes  in  flashes,  to  be  succeeded  by  deeper 
gloom  than  before.  Georgia  always  was  in  extremes ;  she 
was  either  wildly,  madly,  unreasonably  joyful,  or  else 
wrapped  in  a  dark,  sullen  gloom  that  nothing  could  allevi* 
ate." 

The  next  three  days  Emily  was  not  up  at  the  Hall,  but 
on  the  fourth  afternoon  she  started  to  see  Georgia.  The 
train  from  the  city  had  just  reached  Burnfield  station,  and 
two  large  sleighs,  filled  with  ladies  and  gentlemen,  were 
dashing  up  amid  the  jingling  of  bells  and  peals  of  silvery 
laughter  toward  Kichmond  House. 

Emily  paused  and  watched  them  until  they  disappeared 
up  the  avenue,  and  then,  as  she  was  about  to  turn  away, 
she  saw  Mrs.  Hamm,  cloaked  and  hoodet',  advance  toward 
her. 

"  Gk)od. afternoon,  Miss  Mun*?v,»'  s8.id  the  stately  little 


-'  I 


I 


800 


A    DREAM    COMING     VBVM, 


dame,  in  a  tone  of  lofty  courtesy  that  would  hiive  beoooM 
a  ducLcsi. 

*^  Good-afternoon,  Mrs.  Hamm/'  said  Emily,  pUasaatly; 
"  I  see  you  have  visitors  up  at  the  house." 

"  Yes,  friends  of  Mr.  Wildair's,  from  New  York — his 
mother,  and  cousins,  and  others — quite  a  large  party. 
Excuse  me,  this  is  ray  way.     Good-day,  Miss  Emily." 

What  inward  feeling  was  it  that  made  Emily  turn  and 
send  such  a  look  of  pity  up  at  the  window  of  Georgia's 
room  ? 

"  Poor  Georgia  !"  she  said,  as  she  tamed  away,  feeling, 
she  hardly  knew  why,  a  most  uncomfortable  sinking  of  her 
heart  at  the  thought  of  her  sensitive  young  friend  amid  all 
those  unsympathizing  strangers.  '*Poor  Georgia!  Poor 
Georgia  V* 


m\ 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

▲  DBSAH  COMING  TBUS. 

'*  I  had  a  dream  which  was  not  aU  a  dream.^ 

Btbok. 

"  And  we  saw  Medea  burning 

At  her  passioD-planted  stake." 

BaowiriNe. 

ICHMOND  HOUSE  at  last  was  full  of  gnesti ; 
every  room  was  filled  ;  peals  of  laughter,  and 
silvery  voices  of  adies,  and  the  deeper  tones  of 
gentlemen,  made  music  through  the  long  silent 
house,  and  scared  the  swallows  from  their  homes  in  the 
eaveo.  The  idle  servants  had  enough  to  do  now,  and  were 
tearing  distractedly  up  stairs  and  down  stairs,  and  here, 


'=-»i 


A    DREAM    COMING    TBOM, 


m 


and  there,  and  everywhere  with  a  terrible  noise  and  olalter, 
and  all  was  gay  bustle  and  lively  animation. 

Georgia,  nuperb  as  a  young  empress,  in  purple  Batm, 
with  a  brilliant  flush  on  her  cheek,  and  a  streaming  light 
in  her  eyes,  had  never  looked  so  handsome  as  thut  day 
when  she  received  and  welcomed  her  husband's  guesta. 
And  when  this  ceremony  was  over,  they  were  shown  to 
their  rooms  to  dress  for  dinner,  and  Richmond,  with  a 
gratified  smile,  congratulated  her  on  the  elegant  manner  m 
which  she  had  performed  her  part.  Georgia  listened, 
and  her  cheek  flushed  deeper,  and  her  eye  grew  brighter  as 
she  replied  to  his  smile  with  one  that  made  her  face  fairly 
radiant,  and  inwardly  resolved  that  to  merit  his  approba- 
tion, she  would  try  to  dissimulate,  and  try  to  be  amiable 
and  courteous  to  all,  even  to  the  detestable  Miss  Richmond. 

The  great  dining-room  of  Richmond  House  was  all 
ablaze  that  evening,  and  the  long  table  fairly  glittered  and 
flashed  with  its  wealth  of  massive  silver  and  cut-glass  ;  and 
around  iz  gathered  all  the  gay  guests  from  the  city,  and  not 
a  lady  among  them  all  was  half  so  handsome  or  brilliant  as 
the  dark,  bright  girl,  in  her  rich  sheeny  dress,  who  sat  at 
the  head  of  the  table  and  did  the  honors. 

A  very  select  party  they  were  whom  Richmond  Wil- 
dair  had  invited.  There  was  Colonel  Gleason,  a  tall,  pomp- 
ous-looking gentleman ;  and  Mrs.  Gleason,  a  stiff,  frigid 
lady,  not  unlike  Mrs.  Hamm  ;  then  there  was  a  Mrs.  Harper, 
a  buxom,  jolly-looking  matron  ;  and  her  two  daughters, 
dashing,  stylish-looking  girls,  who  had  never  been  guilty  of 
a  blush  in  their  lives.  There,  too,  was  Miss  Reid,  a  silent, 
languid,  delicate-looking  young  lady,  reminding  one  of  a 
fragile  wax  japonica  ;  and  a  Mr.  Lester,  one  of  those  irre- 
■iistible  bipeds  known  as  "  Broadway  swells,"  who  nevet 


fi! 


I 


f. 


(I 


■:  !  ■ 


im 


MS 


A    DREAM    COMING    TRUE. 


pronouced  the  letter  R.  and  had  the  nicest  little  I  its  cf  feet 
and  hands  in  the  world.  There  was  Lieutenant  Gleason, 
the  Colonel's  eldest  son,  remarkable  for  nothing  but  a  fero- 
oious  mustache  and  a  pair  of  long  and  slender  legs  ;  and 
theie  wa«  Mr.  Henry  Gleason,  a  youth  of  eighteen,  who 
stared  at  the  company  generally  through  an  eye-glass,  and 
gsLve  it  as  his  opinion  that  there  never  was  such  a  rum  old 
house,  or  such  a  jolly  stupid  old  place  as  Burnfield  in  the 
world  before.  There  was  Miss  Arlingford,  a  pale,  dark-eyed, 
pleasant-looking  girl,  and  her  brother.  Captain  Arlingford, 
a  handsome,  dashing  young  sailor — frank,  off-hand,  and 
brave,  as  all  sailors  are.  And  last,  but  by  no  means  least, 
there  was  Mr.  Dick  Curtis,  who  on  a  certain  interesting 
occasion  had  "  stood  up  "  with  Richmond,  and  now,  resplen- 
dent in  a  white  vest  and  excruciating  neck-tie,  was  making 
most  anxious  inquiries  about  our  friend  Emily  Murray, 
about  whom  ho  said  his  private  opinion,  publicly  expressed, 
was,  that  she  was  a  "  real  nice  girl — a  regular  stunner,  siir, 
and  no  mistake  T' 

"  Aw — should  like  to  see  her — weally,"  lisped  Mr.  Les- 
ter ;  "  this  heaw  Burnfield  seems  so  good  at  that  sort  of 
thing,  you  know — waising  handsome  gals,  eh  ?"  And  the 
exquisit  ed  with  what  he  fancied  to  be  un  unmistak- 

able look  at  his  hostess,  whose  haughty  lip,  in  ppite  of 
every  effort,  curled  while  meeting  Captain  Arlingford's 
laughing  eye  ;  she  had  to  smile,  too. 

"  I  say,  Lester,"  called  Mr.  Henry  Gleason  from  across 
the  table,  "  that  must  have  been  the  little  beauty  we  saw 
standing  in  the  road  as  we  drove  up.  By  Jove  I  she  was  a 
tcreamer,  a  regular  out-and-outer,  3  tip-top,  sl»p-up  girl," 
said,  the  youth,  enthusiastically. 

**  Henry,  my  dear,"  said  his  ir.other,  looking  shockady 


'J 

L 


n 


A    DREAM   COMING    TRUK 


SOB 


'*  how  can  you  use  such  dreadful  langnage  t  *  SUp-np  V 
I'm  really  astonished  at  yon  !" 

"  Well,  so  she  was  slap-up  I"  reiterated  Master  Henry, 
determinedly,  "  nothing  shorter.  Ask  our  Tom,  or  Lester, 
or  any  of  the  fellows,  if  you  don't  believe  me." 

"  A  true  bill,  Harry,"  replied  his  brother  Tom,  the  hero 
of  the  ferocious  moustache.  "  I  say,  Wildair,  you'll  have 
to  present  ue." 

"  Couldn't,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Mr.  Wildair,  laugh- 
ing ;  "  little  Emily  would  fly  in  terror  at  sight  of  your  gold 
lace  and  sword-knot.  No  chance  of  getting  up  a  flirtation 
with  her,** 

"  Aw — couldn't  expect  anything  bettah  from  a  wustic  ; 
they  ah  not  wuth  the  time  spent  in  flirting,  you  know," 
drawled  Mr.  Lester,  sipping  his  wine. 

Georgia  gave  a  sudden  start,  and,  had  looks  the  power 
to  kill,  poor  obtuse  Mr.  Lester  would  never  have  murdered 
the  king's  English  again.  Glances  were  exchanged,  and 
one  or  two  malicious  smiles  curled  sundry  female  lips.  The 
gentleman  looked  down  at  their  plates,  and  Richmond's 
mouth  grew  stern.  Not  one  present  but  felt  the  words,  save 
the  noodle  who  had  spoken,  and  that  fast  youth.  Master 
Henry  C  leason. 

**  Curtis  is  a  goner,  anyhow,"  said  Master  Henry, 
breaking  the  akward  silence  ;  "  he  turned  as  red  as  a 
boiled  lobster  the  moment  he  clapped  his  eyes  on  her.  £h, 
Curtis,  you're  a  gone  case,  ain't  you  ?" 

"  It's  no  use  though,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Richmond, 
recovering  Jbis  bland  look ;  "  my  little  friend,  Emily, 
wouldn't  have  you  if  you  were  President  of  the  United 
States.  Isn't  that  so,  Georgia  ?"  he  said,  gayly,  %ppealing 
to  his  wife,  who  was  conversing  with  Miss  Arlingford  and 


r 


,1 


(?  y 


f'ji 


S04 


A    DBEAM    COMm&    TBUM. 


\  \ 


her  brother,  the  only  two  whom  she  did  not  posit  vely  dii 
like. 

« I  really  do  not  know,"  she  said,  gravely,  for  she  did 
not  exactly  relish  this  free  nse  of  Emily's  name. 

<'  And  why,  Wildair  ?"  said  Curtis,  so  earnestly  that  all 
laaghed. 

*'  Simply,  my  dear  fellow,  because  you  and  she  have 
antagonistic  views  on  many  subjects." 

A  change  of  theme  was  soon  after  effected  by  the  ladies 
rising  and  seeking  the  drawing-room.  There  they  dispersed 
themselves  in  various  directions.  The  eldest  Miss  Harper 
sat  down  at  the  piano,  in  the  hope  of  attracting  the  atten* 
tion  of  Miss  Arlingford,  whom  she  professed  a  strong 
attachment  for,  on  the  principle  of  '*  let  me  kiss  her  for  her 
brother,"  to  change  the  song  a  little.  But  Miss  Arlingford, 
who  had  taken  a  deep  interest  in  the  proud  young  lady  of 
the  house,  sat  down  beside  her  and  began  to  converse. 
The  rest  gathered  in  groups  to  chat  or  listen  to  the  music, 
or  turn  over  prints,  until  the  entrance  of  the  gentlemen — 
for  which  they  had  not  to  wait  long,  as  that  fast  young 
scion  of  the  house  of  Gleason  had  moved  a  speedy  adjourn- 
ment to  the  drawing-room,  pronouncing  the  talk  over  the 
'*  walnuts  and  the  wine  "  awfully  slow  without  the  girls. 
And  immediately  upon  their  entrance  Master  Henry  crossed 
over  to  where  Georgia  and  Miss  Arlingford  sat,  and  draw- 
ing up  an  ottoman,  deposited  himself  at  their  feet,  and 
began  opening  a  conversation  with  his  young  hostess, 
whom,  he  had  informed  Captain  Arlingford,  he  considered 
the  greatest  "  stunner "  he  had  ever  seen  in  his  life,  ahd 
that,  in  spite  of  all  people  said  about  it,  his  opinion  wai 
that  Rich  Wildair  had  showed  his  good  taste  and  good 
■ense  by  marrying  her. 


fiH 


DREAM   OOmNQ    THUM, 


'*  Where's  the  other  Mrs.  Wildair — the  dowager  dacdett^ 
yoa  know  ?"  he  said,  by  way  of  oommencing 

'<  In  her  room,"  replied  Georgia,  with  a  sm Je.  "  She 
was  rather  fatigued  after  her  journey,  and  would  not  oome 
down  to  dinner.  She  will  grace  the  drawing-room  by  her 
presence  by  and  by.'' 

^*  Horridly  easily  fatigued  she  must  be,"  said  Henry, 
who  was  one  of  those  favored  individuals  who  can  say  and 
do  anything  they  like  without  giving  ofTense.  '*  Freddy 
Richmond's  with  her,  I  suppose  T* 

*^  Yes  ;  she  would  not  leave  her  aunt.  Both  will  be  here 
very  shortly,*'  replied  Georgia. 

Even  as  she  spoke  the  drawing-room  door  opened,  and  a 
tall,  hard-featured,  haughty- looking,  elderly  lady  entered, 
leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  small,  wiry  girl  with  little  keen 
gray  eyes,  and  hair  which  her  friends  called  auburn,  but 
which  was  red,  and  very  white  teeth,  displayed  by  s 
constant,  unvarying  smile.  A  smiling  face  ought  to  be  a 
pleasant  one,  but  this  freckled  one  was  not.  There  was  a 
cringing,  fawning,  servility  about  her  which  made  most 
people,  except  those  fond  of  flattery  and  adulation,  distrust 
her,  and  which  fairly  sickened  Georgia. 

"  Speak  of  the—,"  began  Henry,  sinking  his  voice 
pianissimo,  and  concluding  the  sentence  to  himself. 

Georgia  arose,  and  almost  timidly  approached  them,  and 
inquired  of  the  elder  lady  if  she  felt  better.  Mrs.  Wildair 
opened  her  eyes  and  favored  her  with  a  stare  that  was 
downright  insolent  ;  and  then,  before  her  slow  reply  was 
formed.  Miss  Freddy  Richmond  took  it  upon  herself  to 
answer,  with  a  fawning  smile  : 

**  Thank  you,  yes — quite  recovered.  A  nightV  reit  will 
perfectly  restore  her." 


'  I  i- 


.  ^1 

1    i: 


til 


m 


!: 

It  i 


I     i: 
ii 


n 


I,  !' 

I 

i 


906 


A    DREAM    COMING    TRUE, 


Georgia  turned  her  flashing  eyes  down  on  the  smiimg 
owner  of  the  ferret  optics  and  red  hair,  and  a  hot  *'  I  did 
not  address  myself  to  you — speak  when  you  are  spoken  to," 
leaped  to  her  tongue  ;  but  Georgia  was  learning  to  restrain 
herself  since  her  marriage,  and  so  she  only  bit  her  lip  till 
the  blood  started,  at  the  open  slight. 

"  Can  we  not  get  on,  Fredrica  ?"  said  Mrs.  Wildair,  im- 
patiently. 

Georgia  was  standing  before  them,  and  now  Miss 
Freddy,  with  her  silkiest  smile,  put  out  her  hand — a  limp, 
moist,  sallow  little  member — and  gave  h«$r  a  slight  push 
saying : 

"  Will  you  be  kind  enough,  Georgia "  (she  had  called 
her  by  her  Christian  name  from  the  first,  as  if  she  had  been 
a  maid-of-all-work),  "  and  let  us  pass.  I  see  Mrs.  Colonel 
Gleason  over  there,  and  Mrs.  Wildair  wants  to  join  her." 

Richmond,  standing  over  Miss  Harper,  who  was  deaf- 
ening the  company  with  one  of  those  dreadful  overtures 
from  "  II  Trovatore,"  had  not  witnessed  this  little  scene. 
Indeed,  had  he,  it  is  probable  he  would  have  observed 
nothing  wrong  about  it ;  but  the  gesture,  the  tone,  and  the 
insolent  look — ^half  supercilious,  half  contemptuous — that 
accompanied  it,  sent  a  shock  through  Miss  Arlingford, 
brought  a  flush  to  her  brother's  cheek,  and  even  made 
Master  Henry  mutter  that  it  was  a  "  regular  jolly  shame." 

They  brushed  past  Georgia  as  if  she  had  been  the 
housemaid,  and  she  was  left  standing  there  before  those 
who  had  witnessed  the  direct  insult.  Her  head  was  throb- 
bing, her  face  crimson,  and  her  breath  came  so  quick  and 
stifled  that  she  laid  her  hand  on  her  chest,  feeling  as  though 
she  should  suffocate.  She  forgot  the  curious  eyes  bent 
upon  her — some  in  compassion,  some  in  gratified  malioe— 


A    DREAM    COMING    TRUE, 


ao7 


n 


'W 


•he  forgot  everythiog  but  the  insult  offered  her  by  the 
worm  she  despised.  With  one  hand  resting  on  the  table 
to  8te*dy  herself,  for  her  brain  was  whirling,  and  with  the 
other  pressed  hard  on  her  bosom,  she  stood  where  they  had 
left  her,  until  Miss  Arlingford  arose,  and  taking  her  arm, 
said,  kindly  : 

"  The  heat  has  made  you  ill,  Mrs.  Wildair  j  allow  me 
to  lead  you  to  a  seat." 

She  did  not  resist,  and  Miss  Arlingford  conducted  her 
to  a  remote  seat  somewhat  in  the  shadow,  if  such  a  thing 
as  shade  it  could  be  called  in  that  brilliantly  lighted  room. 
And  then  the  young  lady  began  talking  carelessly  about 
the  music,  without  looking  at  her,  until  Georgia's  emotion 
had  time  to  subside  and,  outwardly  at  least,  she  grew 
calm.  Outwardly — ^but,  oh  !  the  bitterness  that  swelled 
and  throbbed  in  that  proud  heart  until  it  seemed  ready  to 
burst,  that  left  her  white  even  to  the  very  lips,  that  sent 
such  a  dreadful  fire  into  her  dusky  eyes  as  if  all  the  life  in 
her  heart  had  fled  and  concentrated  there. 

She  did  not  hear  a  word  Miss  Arlingford  was  saying, 
the  scarcely  knew  she  was  beside  her ;  she  did  not  know 
what  was  going  on  around  her  for  a  moment,  until,  with 
one  grand  crash  that  might  have  smashed  a  more  firm  in- 
strument, Miss  Harper  arose  from  the  piano  and  sailed  over 
to  where  the  young  captain  and  Henry  Gleason  were  talk- 
ing, and  made  herself  quite  at  home  with  them  at  once. 
And  then  Georgia,  whose  eyes  were  fixed  in  a  sort  of  ter- 
rible fascination  on  Miss  Richmond,  saw  her  led  to  the 
piano  by  her  husband,  and  heard  her  singing,  or  rather 
9cr«eching  some  terrific  Italian  song.,  and  all  the  time  she 
was  combating  a  fierce,  mad  impulse  to  spring  upon  her 
and  do — she  did  not  know  what — str     gle  her,  perhaps. 


Ml 


\  I!  I 


I  '  I 


I. 


906 


A    DREAM    COMING    TRUE. 


;i 


^1 

ii 

•i 


) 


An<l  then  her  song  was  ended — the  final  unearthly  shriek 
was  given,  like  to  nothing  earthly  but  the  squeal  of  a 
steamboat,  and  she  saw  her  approach,  and,  with  her  small, 
glittering,  snaky  eyes  fixed  upon  her,  in  a  voice  audible  to 
all,  ask  her — their  hostess — to  favor  them  next.  Now  she^ 
as  well  as  most  there,  knew  Georgi.i  could  not  play  ;  but, 
wishing  to  have  a  little  pleasure  quizzing  the  "country 
girl,'*  they  came  crowding  around,  and  it  was  : 

"  Oh,  pray  do,  Mrs.  Wildair." 

"  DonH  refuse  us  now." 

"  Do  favor  us,  Mrs.  Wildair  ;  I  am  sure  you  sing  be«a- 
tifully." 

"  Of  course  Georgia  will  play  ;  she  knows  it's  not  polite 
to  refuse  her  guests,"  said  Miss  Richmond,  winding  up  the 
chant  and  smiling  insolently  up  in  her  face  as  she  laid  her 
hand  on  her  arm. 

Georgia  started  as  if  a  viper  had  stung  her,  and,  striking 
off  the  hand,  arose  white  with  concentrated  passion. 

Richmond,  coming  up  at  the  moment,  had  just  heard  his 
cousin's  silvery-toned  request,  and  the  startling  way  in 
which  it  had  been  received. 

Miss  Richmond  and  Miss  Harper  started  back  with  two 
simultaneous  little  shrieks,  and  looked  at  Georgia  as  they 
would  at  a  Shawnee  savage,  had  one  suddenly  appeared  be- 
fore them,  and  a  profound  silence  fell  on  all  around. 

Richmond's  brow  for  one  moment  grew  dark  as  night, 
and  he  caught  and  transfixed  Georgia  with  a  look  that 
made  her  start  as  if  she  had  received  a  galvanic  shock. 
The  next,  with  his  strong  self-command,  his  brow  cleared, 
and,  making  his  way  through  the  startled  group,  he  said, 
smiling  : 

"My  wife  does  not  play,  Freddy.    You   forgot  musie 


|j 


A    DREAM    COMING    TRUB. 


doi 


I  eachers  are  not  so  easily  obtained  in  Burnfield  as  in  New 
York  city.  Why,  Georgia,  you  are  looking  quite  pale. 
Are  you  ill  ?" 

She  did  not  speak ;  she  only  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  face 
with  a  look  of  sach  utter  anguish  that  his  anger  gave  way 
«o  a  mingled  feeling  of  compassion  and  annoyance. 

"  I  am  afraid  Mrs.  Wildair  ia  indisposed,"  said  Miss 
Arlingford.  "  We  will  leave  her  to  your  care,  Mr.  Wil- 
dair, while,  if  my  poor  efforts  will  be  accepted,  I  will  en- 
deavor to  take  her  place  at  the  instrument." 

As  Miss  Arlington  was  known  to  be  a  beautiful  singer, 
the  offer  was  instantly  accepted,  and  the  kind-hearted 
young  lady  was  followed  to  the  piano  by  all  present,  who 
seated  themselves  near,  while  Richmond,  Freddy,  and  Mrs. 
Wildair,  who,  with  a  frown  on  her  brow,  had  just  come  up, 
gathered  round  Georgia. 

"  Really,  Richmond,  your  wife  has  made  a  most  extra- 
ordinary exhibition  of  herself  this  evening,"  said  hia 
mother,  in  a  tone  of  withering  contempt.  "  Are  you  quite 
aure  she  is  perfectly  sane  ?  I  do  not  ask  from  curiosity, 
but  because  Mrs.  Gleason  has  been  quite  terrified." 

Georgia  started  as  if  she  would  have  sprung  from  the 
sofa,  but  Richmond  held  her  down,  while  he  said,  coldly  : 

*^  You  can  tell  Mrs.  Gleason  she  need  not  alarm  herself 
on  the  subject ;  the  unusual  excitement  has  been  too  much 
for  her,  that  is  all." 

"  The  umt9ual  excitement  /  Oh,  I  percieve,"  said  Mrs. 
Wildair,  with  a  smile  more  cutting  than  any  words  could 
have  been.  **  Perhaps  she  had  better  retire  to  her  room 
altogether,  and  I  will  endeavor  to  play  the  hostess  to  your 
guests." 

"  My  dear  Georgia,"   said  Freddy,  laying  her  hateful 


I'l 


li 


II 


ifi 


«10 


A    DREAM    COMING    TRUH, 


!  r 


I 


hand  on  Georgia's,  and  looking  up  in  her  face  with  a  bate> 
ful  smile,  **  I  am  afraid  my  request  offended  you.  I  am 
sure  I  quite  forgot  you  conld  not  play,  and  never  thought 
you  would  have  resented  being  asked  ;  it  is  so  common  for 
people  to  play  nowadays  that  one  cannot  realize  another  is 
ignorant  of  what  every  child  understands.  I  really  cannot 
leave  you  until  you  say  you  forgive  me.'* 

Georgia  shuddered  at  the  hateful  touch,  and  her  hands 
clinched  as  she  listened,  but  Richmond's  eye  was  upon  her, 
and  she  only  shook  off  the  hand,  and  was  silent. 

"  Do  say  you  forgive  me,  Georgia,  do,  please,  I  am  so 
florry,"  fawned  Freddy,  with  one  arm  around  her  neck. 

"  Oh,  Richmond,  take  her  away  1  Oh,  Richmond,  doP* 
she  cried  out,  shrinking  in  loathing  from  her. 

Freddy,  with  the  sigh  of  deeply  injured  but  forgiving 
spirit,  got  up  and  stood  meekly  before  ber. 

"  Really,"  began  Mrs.  Wildair,  with  haughty  anger ; 
bat  her  son,  with  a  darkened  brow,  said,  hastily  : 

"  Mother,  leave  her  to  me.  Freddy,  go  ;  she  deep  xiot 
know  what  she  is  saying  ;  she  will  regret  this  by  and  by, 
and  be  the  first  to  apologize.  She  is  excited  now ;  to- 
morrow you  will  see  her  in  a  very  different  frame  of 
mind." 

''  I  hope  BO,  I  am  sure  ;  it  is  very  much  needed,  I  must 
•ay,"  observed  Mrs.  Wildair,  coldly,  as,  with  a  frown  on 
ber  face,  she  drew  Freddy's  arm  within  hers  and  led  her 
away. 

"  Oh,  Richmond  !"  began  Gerogia,  passionately  lifting 
her  eyes  to  his  face. 

And  there  she  stopped,  the  words  frozen  on  her  lips. 
He  did  not  speak,  but  catching  her  wrists  in  a  steady  grasp, 
he   looked  sternly  and  steadily  in  her  eye^,  until  she  sat 


A    DREAM    COMING    TRUB, 


ill 


Bhivering  and  trembling  before  bim.  And  then  he  dropped 
her  bands,  and  without  a  word  drew  her  arm  within  bis  and 
led  her  down  to  where  the  rest  were,  and  seated  her  on  a 
sofa  between  Colonel  Gleason  and  himself. 

The  song  was  finished,  and  amid  a  murmur  of  applause 
Miss  Arlingford  rose  from  the  piano  and  came  over  to 
where  Georgia  sat,  to  inquire  if  she  felt  better.  And  then 
Captain  Arlingford  and  Henry  Gleason  came,  too,  and 
Georgia  was  soon  the  center  of  a  gay,  laughing  group,  who 
strove  to  dissipate  her  gloom  and  restore  the  disturbed 
harmony  of  the  evening.  And  Georgia,  now  that  her  evil 
genius  was  gone,  remembering  her  husband's  look,  tried  to 
smile  and  talk  cheerfully  with  tbe  rest,  but,  as  she  said 
herself,  sbe  bad  not  yet  learned  to  dissimulate.  And  the 
wild  glitter  of  her  eye  and  her  marble-like  face  told  a  far 
different  story,  and  her  efforts  to  be  at  ease  were  so  evident 
and  so  painful,  that  all  felt  it  a  relief  when  the  hour  came 
for  retiring  and  they  could  seek  tbeir  own  rooms. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wildair  bade  their  last  guest  good-nighty 
and  then  they  were  alone  in  the  drawing*room. 

Georgia  sank  down  on  a  sofa,  dreading  even  to  look  at 
him  ;  and  Richmond,  his  courteous  smile  totally  gone  and 
his  face  grave  and  stern,  stood  witb  his  elbow  leaning  on 
the  marble  mantel,  looking  down  on  her  witb  a  stem, 
steady  gaze. 

"Mrs.  Wildair  1"  he  said,  coldly. 

"  Oh,  Richmond  V^  she  cried,  passionately. 

"  Well,  this  a  delightful  beginning,  I  must  say,"  ht 
observed,  calmly.  "Are  you  aware,  madam,  that  you 
made  both  yourself  and  me  ridiculous  to-night  ?" 

"Oh,  Richmond,  I  could  not  hslp  it !  Oh,  Rir^miond,  I 
felt  as  if  I  should  go  mad  !" 


\i\ 


Ill 


A    DREAM    COMING    THUM, 


"  It  woald  Dot  take  muoh  to  oonvince  onr  friends  that 
you  aie  that  already,  my  dear.  May  I  ask  if  it  WM 
Fredrioa's  simple  and  natural  request  that  you  would  play 
for  the  oompany,  that  came  so  near  driving  you  mad  ?  I 
saw  you  drop  her  band  as  if  there  were  contamination  in 
the  touch.'* 

'*  Oh,  so  there  is  I  so  there  is  I'*  she  cried,  in  frenzied 
tones. 

'*  Really,  madam,"  said  Mr.  Wildair,  in  a  tone  of 
marked  displeasure,  "  this  is  carrying  your  absurdity  too 
far.  Take  care  that  /do  not  begin  to  believe  you  mad,  as 
well  as  the  rest.  Are  you  aware  that  you  groRsly  insulted 
my  cousin  before  my  guests  this  evening?" 

"  She  insulted  me  ! — the  low,  fawning  hypocrite  !  Oh, 
that  I  should  be  obliged  to  live  under  the  same  roof  with 
that  thing  P^  exclaimed  Georgia,  wildly,  wringing  her 
hands. 

There  was  a  dead  pause.  It  had  more  effect  on  Georgia 
than  any  words  he  could  have  uttered.  She  looked  up, 
and  saw  him  standing  calm,  stern,  and  deeply  displeased, 
with  his  large,  strong  eyes  fixed  upon  her  in  sorrow,  sur- 
prise, and  grave  anger. 

''  Oh,  Richmond  !  what  shall  I  do  ?  I  am  going  crazy, 
I  think.  Oh,  Richmond  !  I  tried  to  do  well,  and  not  dis- 
please you,  but  she—  Oh  t  everything  that  is  bad  in  my 
nature  she  rouses  when  she  comes  near  me  !  Richmond  ! 
Richmond  !  I  cannot  bear  to  have  you  angry  with  me. 
Tell  me — do  tell  me— what  I  shall  do  ?" 

''  It  is  very  plain  what  you  must  do,  my  love.  You 
mast  apologize  to  Miss  Richmond." 

As  if  she  had  received  a  spear-thrust,  Georgia  bounded 
to  her  feet,  her  eyes  blazing,  her  lips  blanched. 


M    DREAM   OOMINO    TSUA 


ni 


«'  What  I" 

"  Kay,  my  dear ;  it  is  folly  to  excite  yonrself  in  thit 
way.  Be  calm.  Of  course,  you  must  apologize — there  is 
DO  other  way  in  which  you  can  atone  for  your  nnparalleled 
madness." 

"Never  r 

"  You  will  not  f  Georgia,  do  I  andentand  yon  right  7 
Ton  mean  you  wUl  apologize  ?** 

"Never!" 

"  Georgia,  you  wiUH 

"  I  will  NOT  1" 

There  was  another  dead  pause.  Still  he  stood  calm  and 
coldly  stern,  while  she  stood  with  her  fuU  form  drawn  up 
to  its  full  height,  her  eyes  flashing  sparks  of  fire,  her  brow 
corrugated,  her  lips  white  with  passion  und  defiance. 

"  Georgia,"  he  said,  coldly,  and  his  words  fell  like  ice 
on  the  fire  raging  in  her  stormy  breast,  "  once  your  boast 
was  that  yon  never  told  a  lie  ;  now  you  have  twom  one. 
Yon  vowed  before  God's  minister  to  obey  me,  and  yet  the 
first  command  I  have  given  you  since,  you  passionately 
refuse  to  obey.  I  am  no  tyrant,  Georgia,  and  I  shall  never 
request  you  to  do  anything  for  me  again  ;  but  remember, 
madam,  I  shall  not  forget  this." 

He  was  turning  away,  but  with  a  great  cry  she  sprang 
after  him  and  caught  his  arm. 

*•  Oh,  Richmond,  unsay  your  words !  Oh,  I  will  do 
anything,  anything,  anything  sooner  than  part  with  you  in 
anger  1  Oh,  Richmond,  my  heart  feels  as  if  it  were  break- 
ing.    I  shall  die  if  you  do  not  say  you  forgive  me  1" 

"  Will  you  go  to  my  cousin  to-morrow,  and  beg  ^«r 
pardon  for  yon  iiisane  conduct  to-night  ?" 


I 


I 


:1 


il 


in 


214 


A    DREAM    COMING    TBUM. 


\    ^« 


She  shivered  as  one  in  an  ague  fit,  while  from  her  white 
lips  dropped  the  hollow  word  : 

"  That  is  my  own  brave  Georgia.  The  insult  was 
publicly  given,  and  should  be  publicly  atoned  for ;  but  I 
will  spare  you  that  humiliation.  And  now  I  feel  that  thia 
lesson,  severe  as  it  is,  will  do  you  good.  You  will  be  more 
careful  for  the  future,  Georgia."  . 

She  lifted  her  head,  and  looked  up  in  his  face  with  a 
smile  that  startled  him. 

**  It  has  come  true,  Richmond,"  she  said. 

"  What  has,  my  love  ?"  he  asked,  uneasily. 

"  My  dream.  Do  you  not  remember  the  dream  I  told 
you  and  Charley,  long  ago,  when  I  first  knew  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  remember  it.  You  told  it  so  impressively  I 
could  not  forget  it.     What  of  that  dream,  my  dear  ?" 

She  laughed — such  a  mockery  of  laughter  as  it 
was ! 

'*  It  was  you  I  saw  in  that  dream,  Richmond ;  it  was 
you  who  drove  me,  all  wounded  and  bleeding,  through  the 
fiery  furnace.  You  are  doing  it  now,  Richmond.  But  I 
did  not  tell  you  all  my  dream  then.  I  did  not  tell  you  then 
that  at  last  I  turned,  sprang  upon  my  torturer,  and  stban* 
«LBD  him  in  my  own  death  throes  1" 

Again  she  laughed,  and  looked  up  in  his  face  with  her 
gleaming  eyes. 

"  My  dear,  you  are  hysterical,"  he  said  in  alarm.  "  Be 
cairn  ;  do  not  excite  yourself  so.  I  always  knew  you  were 
wild  ;  but  positively  this  is  the  very  superlative  of  wildest. 
To-morrow  you  will  feel  better,  Georgia." 

"  Oh,  yes— to-morrow,  when  I  shall  have  begged  her 


SOWING    THE    WIND. 


til 


pardon  I    Listeii^   Ricbmond,  do  you  know  what  I  wiihecl 
to-night  ?" 

"  No,  dear  Georgia  ;  what  was  it  T* 

**  It  was,  Richmond,  that  I  had  never  married  you  f* 


CHAPTER  XV. 


BOWINQ  THE  WIND. 


ERRY  days  those  were  in  Richmond  House,  with 
the  old  halls  resounding  with  music  and  laugh- 
ter, and  the  hum  of  gay  voices,  from  morning 
till  night.  Astonished  and  awed  were  the  peo- 
ple of  Bumfield  by  the  glittering  throng  of  city  fashion- 
ables,  who  promenaded  their  streets  and  swept  past  them 
in  the  sweeping  amplitude  of  flashing  silks  and  rich  velvets 
and  furs.  As  for  our  city  friends  themselves,  the  ladies 
pronounced  the  place  "  horrid  stupid  ;"  but  as  the  young 
gentlemen,  with  one  or  two  exceptions,  found  the  country 
girls  exceedingly  willing  to  be  flirted  with,  they  rather 
liked  it  than  otherwise. 

A  proud  man  was  the  Reverend  Mr.  Barebones  the  first 
Sunday  after  their  arrival,  when  the  bewildering  throng 
flashed  into  the  meeting-house,  and,  with  a  great  rustle  of 
silks  and  satins,  and  an  intoxicating  odor  of  eau  de  Cologne, 
filled  the  two  large  front  pews  that  from  time  immemorial 
had  belonged  to  Richmond  House.  It  was  not  religion 
altogether  that  brought  them — at  least,  not  all.  Languid 
Miss  Reid,  for  instance,  went  because  the  rest  did,  and  it 
was  less  trouble  to  go  than  to  form  excuses  for  staying ; 


A  I 


ill 


1\ 


i 


\i^ 


81« 


80W1NQ    TEE    WlUfD. 


and  that  quintesHence  of  exquisiteitess,  Mr.  Adolphas  Le»> 
ter,  who  was  tender  on  that  young  lady,  went  because  she 
did.  Miss  Harper  went  because  Captain  Arlingford  was 
going,  and  Mi<is  Freddy  Richmond  went  because  she  was  a 
very  discreet  young  lady  and  it  was  "  proper  "  to  attend 
divine  worship,  and  Miss  Richmond  never  shocked  th« 
proprieties.  Georgia  w^ent  because  she  had  to,  and  Lieu<^ 
tenant  Gleason  and  his  father  went  to  kill  time,  which 
always  hung  heavy  on  their  hands,  on  Sunday.  Of  the 
whole  party,  only  Master  Henry  Gleason  and  Mr.  Curtis 
were  absent ;  Master  Henry,  having  pronounced  the  whole 
establishment  of  Christian  churches  on  earth  and  their 
attendant  Christian  ministers  ^*  horrid  old  bores,"  declared 
his  intention  of  staying  at  home  and  having  a  "  jolly  good 
snooze." 

Every  one  seemed  to  have  enjoyed  themselves  the  last 
week  at  Richmond  House  but  its  young  mistress.  There 
were  rides,  and  drives,  and  excursions  during  the  day,  and 
sailing  p^^^ties  on  the  river  in  Mr.  Wildair's  yacht  ;  and 
there  were  dancing,  and  music,  and  acting  charades,  and  all 
sorts  of  amusements  for  the  evening,  into  which  all  the 
young  people  entered  with  eager  zest — all  but  Georgia. 

Those  days,  few  as  they  were,  had  wrought  a  marked 
change  in  her.  The  flush  of  her  health  and  happiness  had 
laded  from  her  cheeks,  leaving  only  two  dark  purple  spots, 
that  burned  there  like  tongues  of  flame  ;  her  eye  had  lost 
its  sparkle,  her  brow  was  worn  and  haggard,  and  her  step 
was  slow  and  weary.  She  lived  in  daily  martyrdom,  such 
as  none  but  a  spirit  so  morbidly  proud  and  keenly  sensitive 
can  comprehend.  Slights,  insults,  insolence,  and  little  gall* 
ing  acts  of  malice, "  making  up  in  number  what  they  wanted 
in  weight,"  were  daily  to  be  borne  now  from  her  s  ""per- 


SOWING    TEE    WIND, 


917 


oilous  mother-in-law  and  her  malicions,  insolent  shadow 
and  eoao,  Miss  Richmond.  And  these  were  offered  openly, 
in  the  presence  of  all ;  not  an  opportunity  was  allowed  to 
escape  of  mortifying  her  ;  until  sometimes,  wild  and  nearly 
maddened,  she  would  fly  up  to  her  room,  and,  alone  and 
frenzied,  struggle  with  the  storm  raging  in  her  heart. 

Richmond,  absorbed  in  attending  to  the  comfort  and 
amusement  of  bis  guests,  knew  nothing  of  all  this.  It  was 
not  their  policy  to  let  him  suspect  their  dislike — yes, 
hatred  of  his  bride  ;  and,  as  they  well  knew,  the  rest,  who 
saw  it  all,  would  not  venture  to  speak  on  so  delicate  a  sub- 
ject to  their  proud  host.  It  is  true,  he  saw  the  change  in 
Georgia's  face,  and  the  freezing  coldness  her  manners  were 
assuming  to  all,  even  to  him  ;  but  from  some  artfully 
dropped  hints  of  immaculate  Miss  Freddy's,  he  set  it  down 
to  stubborn  sullenness.  And  believing  her  to  be  incorrig- 
ible in  her  disagreeableness  and  insubordination,  he  grew 
markedly  reserved  and  cold  when  alone  in  her  society  ;  and 
thus  the  misunderstanding  between  them  daily  widened. 

Georgia  was  too  proud  to  complain  of  what  she  herself 
suffered  and  endured — she  was  dumb ;  and  indeed  if  she 
had  been  inclined,  she  would  have  found  it  hard  to  make 
oat  a  list  of  her  grievances  and  relate  them,  for  Miss  Fred- 
dy's insults  were  offered  in  such  a  way  that,  keenly  as  they 
Btmck  home,  they  dwindled  into  nothing  when  related  to  a 
third  party.  Had  he  not  been  so  absorbed  in  the  duties  of 
hospitality,  and  striving  to  atone  for  his  wife's  neglect,  be 
might  have  seen  for  himself  ;  but  he  was  blind  and  deaf  to 
all,  and  only  saw  her  uncourteous  treatment  of  his  friends 
and  her  wifely  disobedience.  And  before  long — no  one 
•oaroely  knew  how — Georgia  was  pushed  aside,  and  Mrs. 
Wildair  and  Freddy  began  to  take  the  place  of  hostess,  and 
10 


K^ 


Mi 


\: 


t        1 


li! 


' 


218 


SOWING    TEE    WIND. 


Richmond  looked  on  and  tacitly  consented.  Ah  wrere  con- 
sulted in  their  plans  and  amusements  but  Georgia  ;  the  w%m 
overlooked  with  the  coolest  and  meet  insolert  ccntempt ; 
and  if  sometimes,  as  a  matter  of  form,  her  opinion  was 
asked  by  either  of  the  ladies,  it  was  worded  in  such  a  way 
or  uttered  in  such  a  tone  as  made  it  even  a  more  galling 
insult.  And  Georgia,  with  a  swelling  heart  and  with  lips 
compressed  in  proud,  bitter  endurance,  consented  to  have 
her  place  usurped,  without  a  word  or  attempt  to  regain  it. 
With  a  heart  that  underneath  all  her  calmness  seemed 
ready  to  burst  at  such  times,  she  would  refuse  to  accom- 
pany them,  pleading  indisposition,  or  sometimes  giving  no 
reason  at  all  ;  and  Mrs.  Wildair  would  turn  away  with  an 
indifferent,  "  Oh,  very  well,  just  as  you  please,"  and  Kioh- 
mond  would  say  nothing  at  the  time,  until  he  would  find 
her  alone,  and  then  he  would  coldly  begin  : 

"  Mrs.  Wildair,  may  I  beg  to  know  the  reason  you  will 
not  honor  ns  with  your  company  to-morrow  V* 

**  Because  I  do  not  wish  to,"  she  would  flash,  with  a.^J 
her  old  defiance  flaming  up  in  her  dusky  eyes. 

'^  Because  you  do  not  wish  to  I  Insolent  I  Madam,  1 
insist  upon  your  accompanying  ns  to-morrow  !" 

''You  find  my  society  so  brilliant  and  agreeable,  no 
doubt,  that  my  absence  will  destroy  your  pleasure,"  she 
would  say,  with  a  bitter  laugh  that  jarred  painfully  on  the 
ear. 

"  No,  madam,  I  regret  to  say  that  your  fixed  determin- 
ation to  disobey  me,  and  be  uncourteous  and  disagreeable, 
is  carried  out  in  the  very  letter  and  spirit.  Still,  I  cannot 
allow  my  guests  to  be  treated  with  marked  discourtesy.  1 
have  some  regard  for  the  laws  of  hospitality,  if  you  havt 


SOWING    THE    WIND. 


not.  Therefore,  Mrs.  Wildair,  you  will  prepare  to  join  o«r 
party  to-morrow." 

"And  if  I  refuse?" 

His  eye  flashed,  and  his  mouth  grew  stem. 

"  You  will  be  sorry  for  it !  Do  not  attempt  such  a 
thing  !     You  may  disobey,  but  you  shall  not  trifle  with 


» 


me. 

She  lifted  her  eyes,  and  he  would  see  a  face  so  haggs'^r! 
and  utterly  wretched  that  his  heart  would  melt,  and  lie 
would  go  over  and  put  his  arm  around  her,  and  say, 
gently  : 

"  Come,  Georgia,  be  reasonable.  What  evil  spirit  hag 
got  into  you  of  late  ?  Why  will  you  persist  in  treating  our 
friends  in  this  way  ?" 

"  Our  friends  ! — your  friends,  you  mean." 

*'  It  is  all  the  same  ;  for  my  sake  you  ought  to  treat  my 
friends  differently." 

Her  heart  swelled  and  her  lip  quivered.  Yes,  his  friends 
might  slight  and  insult  her,  but  she  was  to  put  her  head 
under  their  heels,  and  smile  on  those  who  crushed  her. 

"Well,  Georgia,  you  do  not  speak,"  he  would  say, 
watching  her  closely. 

"  Mr.  Wildair,  I  have  nothing  to  say.  Your  mother  and 
cousin  are  mistresses  here  ;  my  part  is  to  stand  aside  and 
obey  them.  If  you  command  me  to  go  to-morrow,  I  have 
no  alternative.  I  am  still  capable  of  submitting  to  a  great 
deal,  sooner  than  willingly  displease  you." 

"  My  mother  and  cousin  undertook  no  authority  here, 
Georgia,  until  you  neglected  all  your  duties  as  hostess,  and 
they  were  obliged  to  do  so.  It  is  all  your  own  fault,  and 
you  know  it,  Georgia." 

She  smiled  bitterly. 


i>l 


u 


w\ 


Vi 


BOWING    THE    WIND. 


!l  i 


i  I 


*'  We  will  not  discuss  the  subject,  if  you  please^  Rioh- 
mond.  I  make  no  complaint ;  they  are  welcome  to  do  ai 
they  please,  and  all  I  ask  for  is  the  same  privilege.  I  can. 
not  have  it,  it  appears,  and — I  will  go  to-morrow,  since  you 
insist ;  my  absence  or  presence  will  make  little  difference 
to  your  friends." 

'*  Qeorgia,  why  will  you  persist  in  this  absurd  non- 
sense ?"  he  would  exclaim,  almost  angrily.  **  Really  you 
are  enough  to  try  the  patience  of  a  saint.  I  wish  some  of 
this  foolish,  morbid  pride  of  yours  had  been  kept  where  it 
came  from,  and  a  little  plain,  practical  common  sense  put 
in  its  place.  You  have  taken  a  most  unaccountable  pre- 
judice to  my  mother  and  cousin,  which,  if  you  had  that 
regard  for  me  you  profess,  you  certainly  would  not  pain 
me  by  displaying  ;  in  fact,  you  resolved  from  the  first  to 
dislike  aU  I  invited,  and  you  have  kept  that  promise  won- 
derfully well  I  must  say,  except  as  regards  the  two  Arling- 
fords,  toward  whom  you  evince  a  partiality  that  makes 
your  neglect  of  the  rest  all  the  more  glaring.  It  is  certainly 
a  pity  you  did  not  receive  the  education  of  a  lady,  Georgia, 
and  then  common  politeness  would  teach  you  to  act  differ* 
ently." 

In  silence,  and  with  a  curling  lip  and  an  unutterable 
depth  of  scorn  in  her  beautiful  eyes,  Georgia  would  listen 
to  this  conjugal  tirade,  but  her  lips  would  be  sealed  ;  and 
Richmond,  indignant  and  deeply  offended,  would  Ieavf>  ^he 
room,  and  the  next  moment,  all  smiles  and  suavity,  rejC'in 
his  guests.  And  Georgia,  left  alone,  would  press  her  hand 
to  her  breast  with  that  feeling  of  suffocation  rising  again 
until  the  very  air  of  the  perfumed  room  would  seem  to  stifle 
her.     And  such  scenes  as  this  were  of  frequent  occ:irreBce 


BOWING    THE    WIND, 


»1 


DOW,  and  one  and  all  sank  deep  in  her  heart,  to  rankle  ther« 
in  anguish  and  bitterness  nntold. 

Perhaps  it  may  seem  strange  that  Mrs.  Wildair  and 
Miss  Richmond  should  hate  Georgia  ;  but  so  it  was.  Mrs. 
Willdair  was  the  haughtiest,  the  most  overbearing,  and  the 
most  ambitious  of  women.  Her  sons  were  her  pride  and 
her  boast,  in  public  as  well  as  in  private,  and  she  had  often 
been  heard  to  declare  that  they  should  marry  among  the 
highest  in  the  land,  and  perpetuate  the  ancient  glory  of  the 
Bichmonds.  When  Charley  had  disappointed  all  this  ex- 
pectation, and  had  become  an  alien  from  her  heart  and 
home,  the  shock,  given  more  to  her  ambition  than  to  her 
affections,  was  terrible,  and  when  she  recovered  from  it,  all 
her  hopes  centered  in  her  first-born,  Richmond. 

There  was  an  English  lady  of  rank,  the  daughter  of  an 
earl,  at  that  time  visiting  an  acquaintance  of  Mrs.  Wildair 
in  New  York,  and  to  this  high-born  girl  did  she  lift  her 
eyes  and  determine  upon  as  her  future  daughter-in-law. 
But  before  she  had  time  to  write  to  Richmond,  and  desire 
him  to  return  home  for  that  purpose,  hia  letter  came,  and 
there  she  read  the  quiet  announcement  that,  in  a  week  or 
two,  he  was  to  be  married  in  Burnfield  to  a  young,  penni- 
less girl,  "  rich  alone  in  beauty,"  he  wrote. 

Mrs.  Wildair  sat  nearly  stunned  by  the  shook.  Down 
came  her  gilded  coronet ed  chateau  d'  Espagne  with  a 
erasn,  to  rise  no  more.  Her  son  was  his  own  master;  she 
knew  his  strong,  determined,  unconquerable  will  of  old,  to 
combat  which  was  like  beating  the  air.  Nothing  remained 
fox  her  but  to  consent,  which  she  did  with  a  bitter  hatred 
against  the  unconscious  object  that  had  thwarted  her  burn- 
ing in  her  heart,  and  a  determination  to  make  her  pay 
dearly  for  what  she  had  done,  whioh  resolution  she  pro- 


t 


I 


f 


!:'-     I 


IP 


iv 


929 


SOWING    TEE    WIND, 


\n\ 


ceeded  to  carry  into  effeot  the  moment  she  arrived  in  Riob.' 
mond  House. 

*'  To  think  that  she — a  thing  like  that — sprung  from  the 
dregs  of  the  city,  for  she  is  not  even  an  honest  farmer's 
daughter — should  have  dared  to  become  my  son's  wife," 
■he  said,  hissing  the  words  through  her  clenched  teeth  ;  "  a 
low  wretch,  picked  up  out  of  the  slime  and  slough  of  the 
city  filth,  to  come  between  me  and  my  son.  Oh  1  was 
Charley's  act  not  degradation  enough,  that  this  must  fall 
upon  us  too  ?" 

<*  Let  us  hope,  my  dear  aunt,  that  the  place  she  has  had 
the  effrontery  to  usurp  will  not  long  be  hers,"  murmured 
the  dulcet  voice  of  her  niece,  to  whom  she  had  spoken. 
"  We  have  built  up  already  a  wall  of  brass  between  them, 
and  I  have  a  plan  in  my  head  that  will  transform  it  to  one 
of  fire.  Recollect,  aunt,  divorces  are  easily  obtained,  and 
then  your  son  will  be  free  once  more,  and  our  queenly  pau- 
per will  be  ignominiously  cast  back  into  the  slime  she  rose 
from," 

Miss  Freddy's  hatred  came  from  pretty  much  the  same 
cause  as  Mrs.  Wildair's.  In  any  case,  she  would  have  con* 
sidered  it  her  duty  to  follow  that  lady's  lead  :  but  now  she 
had  her  own  private  reasons  for  hating  her  with  all  the 
bitter  intensity  of  a  mean  little  mind. 

Miss  Freddy  was  to  have  married  Charley,  and  was 
quite  ready  and  willing  to  do  so  at  a  moment's  notice,  but 
in  her  secret  heart  she  would  have  far  prefened  his  elder 
brother.  Differing  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  Richmond, 
even  **  from  boyhood's  hours,"  had  been  her  favorite  ;  but 
when  she  saw  his  mother's  hopes  aspire  to  a  coronet  and  a 
title,  she  was  overawed,  and  made  up  her  mind  to  be  oast 
into  the  shade.    To  be  rivaled  by  a  lady  like  this  could  be 


SOWING    THE    riND. 


borne,  but  that  a  peasant  girl — a  naiLeless,  unknown  girl— 
should  win  the  prize  for  which  she  had  sought  iu  vain — oh  I 
it  was  a  humiliation  not  to  be  endured.  So  she  entered  heart 
and  soul  into  all  her  aunt's  plans,  and  won  that  lady*8  ap* 
probation  for  her  dutiful  conduct,  while  she  carefully  con» 
cealed  her  own  motives.  And  this,  then,  was  the  secret 
of  Georgia's  persecutions. 

The  "  wall  of  fire "  the  amiable  young  lady  h&d 
referred  to  was  to  make  Richmond  jealous.  Now,  jealousy 
was  never  a  fault  of  his,  but  artful  people  can  work  won- 
ders, and  Miss  Freddy  went  carefully,  but  surely,  t»  work, 
with  Mrs.  Wildair  for  her  stanch  backer.  And  Georgia, 
all  unconscious,  walked  headlong  into  the  snare  laid  for 
her. 

As  her  husband  had  said,  the  Arlingfords  were  the  only 
ones  in  the  house  whom  Georgia  could  at  all  endure.  The 
frank,  genial,  honest  straightforwardness  of  brother  and 
sister  pleased  her  ;  and,  indignant  at  the  treatment  so  openly 
offered  her,  they  devoted  themselves  in  every  way  to  inter- 
est and  amuse  her.  And  Miss  Freddy  seeing  this,  her 
little  keen  eyes  fairly  snapped  with  gratification,  and  by  a 
thousand  little  devices  and  pretenses  she  would  manage  to 
dispose  of  the  sister,  and  leave  Georgia  altogether  to  be 
entertained  by  the  brother.  And  then  the  attention  of  the 
company  would  be  artfully  directed  to  the  twain  who  were 
so  much  together,  and  Richmond  would  hear  from  one  and 
another  . 

**  What  friends  Mrs.  Georgia "  (so  she  was  called  to 
distinguish  her  from  the  other)  "  and  captftii  Arlingfor^ 
•re !" 

"  How  very  intimate  they  are  V* 


'     V.  11 


If 


if    iM 


'■i    V - 


i' 
M 


If 


224 


SOWING    TEE    WIND. 


I     I 


.  i  I 


) 


**  Yes,  indeed ;  just  sec  how  she  smiles  upon  him-^<m't 
you  think  bor  handsome  when  she  smiles  ?" 

**  Very  much  so.  Captain  Arlingford  seems  to  think  so, 
too.  What  a  pity  he  is  the  only  one  she  will  honor  by  one 
of  them." 

''  Well,  it  is  fortunate  she  has  met  some  one  who  can 
please  her — she  seems  so  dull,  poor  thing  !" 

**  A  handsome  man  like  Captain  Arlingford  does  not 
find  it  very  hard  to  be  agreeable,  I  fancy  ;  he  is  decidedly 
the  best-looking  young  man  here." 

"  Mrs.  Georgia's  opinion  exactly,**  said  Miss  Harper, 
sending  a  spiteful  glance  at  the  unconscious  objects  of  these 
remarks,  who  sat  conversing  03  a  sofa  at  some  distance. 
''  I  asked  her,  yesterday,  and  she  said,  '  Yes,  she  thought 
he  most  decidedly  was.' " 

"  Poor,  dear  Georgia  1"  chimed  in  Miss  Freddy,  looking 

tenderly  toward  her ;  "  I  am  80  glad  she  likes  him  ;  she 
seems  to  like  so  few,  and  indeed  nobody  could  help  liking 

him,  he  is  eo  charming.  What  a  nice  nose,  and  lovely  mus- 
tache, and  sweet  curling  hair  he  has,  to  be  sure  I" 

"And,  by  George  I  he  shows  his  good  taste,  too,  in 
flirting  with  the  prettiest  woman  among  you,"  exclaimed 
Harry  Gleasou,  bluntly.  "  Arlingford  knows  what's  what, 
I  tell  you  ;  he'll  go  in  and  win,  I'll  bet !" 

Now  these  remarks,  though  at  first  he  paid  no  attention 
to  them  beyond  what  the  words  conveyed,  jarred  disagree- 
ably on  Richmond's  mind.  But  as  days  passed  on  and  they 
grev.^  more  frequent  and  more  meaning  in  ton^,  and  he  saw 
the  ourions  smiles  with  which  they  were  regarded,  and  the 
expression  of  his  mother's  face  as  she  watched  them,  and  saw 
hii  cousin  look  first  at  them  and  then  at  him  with  a  sort 
of  anxiety  and  tender  pity,  he  felt  a  growing  disagreeable 


BOWING    THE    WIND. 


•ensation  of  uneasineHS  for  which  he  could  hardly  account. 
Even  to  himself,  he  was  ashamed  to  own  he  was  jealoas 
of  Georgia — his  leal,  true-hearted,  straightforward  Georgia, 
whom  he  had  never  known  to  be  guilty  of  a  dishonorable 
thought  in  her  life.  Fiery,  rash,  high-spirited  she  was,  but 
treacherous,  deceitful,  wicked  she  was  not.  He  could  have 
staked  his  soul  upon  her  truth,  and  yet — and  yet  by  slow 
degrees  the  poison  began  to  enter  his  mind,  and  he  com- 
menced to  watch  bis  wife  with  an  angry,  suspicious  eye. 

Oh,  Richmond  1  Richmond  I  that  you  should  fall  so  low 
as  this  I  You,  whom  Georgia  once  regarded  as  a  demi-god ; 
you  whom  she  still  believes,  in  spite  of  your  sorrowful 
misunderstanding,  everything  that  is  upright  and  true  ; 
you,  whom,  had  heaven,  and  earth,  and  hades  accused  of 
infidelity,  she  would  not  have  believed.  And  now,  you  are 
growing  jealous  of  your  rash  but  leal-hearted  wife,  whom 
yon  have  completely  megleoted  yourself,  to  attend  to  others. 
Oh,  Richmond  ! 

"  Really,  my  dear,  you  are  a  jewel  without  price — worth 
a  million  in  cash  !"  exolamed  Mrs.  Wildair  to  Freddy, 
delighted  at  the  success  of  her  diabolical  scheme.  "  Your 
plan  has  succeeded  beyond  all  my  expectations.  I  really 
did  not  think  you  could  make  Richmond  jealous  without 
alarming  him,  and  putting  him  on  his  guard  against  us  ; 
but,  positively,  he  is  growing  as  jealous  as  a  Turk,  and 
never  suspects  either  of  us  in  the  least." 

Miss  Freddy  smiled  her  sinister  and  most  evil  smile. 

"  Poor  Richmond !  What  a  hard  time  he  is  going  to 
have  of  it  with  that  green-eyed  monster  I  And  how 
delightfully  unconscious  Mrs.  Georgia  walks  into  the  pit 
with  her  eyes  open  !  Really,  it  is  as  good  as  a  faroe  I  Oh  I 
tlie  stnpidity  of  these  earthworms  V* 
10* 


n>: 


sac 


SOWING    TUB     WIND. 


1 1 


'<  Poor  liiob  !  bo  did  look  bo  deliciouBly  xiserabU  to- 
nigbt  when  be  naw  tbose  two  sitting  togetber  in  a  corner 
by  tbemselves,  turning  over  tbose  prints,  jnst  as  innocent 
as  a  couple  of  angels.'' 

And  botb  ladies  leaned  back  in  tbeir  seats  and  langhed 
immoderately. 

Poor  Georgia  !  tbe  sky  was  rapidly  darkening  around 
her,  though  this,  tbe  blackest  cloud,  waa  still  invisible  to 
her  eyes.  Sometimes,  in  her  desolation,  it  seemed  to  her 
as  if  she  had  not  a  single  friend  in  the  world,  for  Emily 
never  ventured  near  Richmond  House  now,  and  she  had 
only  seen  Miss  Jerusha  once  since  her  return.  She  could 
not  dissimulate.  She  bad  tried  it  in  vain,  and  she  would 
not  bring  her  haggard  face  and  anguished  eyes  to  tell  the 
tale  her  tongue  was  too  proud  to  speak.  So  she  did  not 
visit  the  cottage,  until  at  last  Miss  Jerusha  grew  seriously 
Ukjeasy,  and  resolved  to  brave  all  obstacles,  tbe  impudent 
footman  included,  and  go  up  to  tbe  house  and  see  Georgia. 

Until  she  was  fairly  gone,  Miss  Jerusha  had  never 
known  how  large  a  share  of  her  heart  her  protegee  had 
monopolized  ;  and  so,  worthy  reader,  behold  her  arrayed 
in  that  respected  <'  kaliker  geownd "  you  are  acquaintea 
with,  for  brown  silk  could  not  be  worn  on  a  week-day, 
with  tbe  faded  shawl,  and  a  pink  calico  sunbonnet,  a  recent 
addition  to  her  wardrobe,  knocking  at  tbe  hall-door  of 
Richmond  House. 

It  was  some  time  in  tbe  afternoon,  and  the  household 
were  dressing  for  dinner,  and  so  the  servant  told  her,  re- 
spectfully enough,  for  her  first  visit  bad  taught  them  % 
lesflon  they  did  not  soon  forget. 

« Dinner  I  you  git  out  I"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  indignantly, 
^'and  it  nigh  onto  four  o'clock.    Don^t  tell  me  no  Buoh 


•  to- 
rner 
(cent 


re- 


80  WING    THE    WIND. 


vn 


itoif!  Jist  be  ofif  and  toll  Georgey  I  want  to  8e«  her. 
Clear  !" 

The  man  hesitated ;  Miss  Jerusha  looked  danio^Toui ; 
he  ezpeotod  the  dinner-bell  to  ring  every  moment,  ana  hid 
mistress  was  in  her  room  ;  so  while  he  stood  hositatinG^,  a 
rustling  of  silk  was  heard  behind  him,  and  the  next  moment 
Mrs.  Wildair  stood  gazing  in  haughty  surprise  on  the 
intruder. 

Now,  Mrs.  Wildair  knew  well  enough  who  Miss  Jernsha 
was  ;  her  niece  had  pointed  her  out  one  day  ;  but  as  this 
was  an  excellent  opportunity  for  mortifying  Greorgia,  she 
chose  to  be  quite  ignorant  of  the  matter. 

"What  is  this?"  she  said,  stepping  back  haughtily. 
"  What  does  she  want  ?  Wilson,  how  dare  you  allow 
beggars  to  enter  the  hall-door  ?" 

"  She — she  ain't  no  beggar,  ma'am,"  said  Wilson,  casting 
an  apprehensive  glance  at  Miss  Jerusha,  "  she's " 

"  I  don't  care  what  she  is.  Persons  of  her  class  should 
go  round  to  the  kitchen  door.  Send  her  out,  a  nd  let  her  go 
there  if  she  wants  anything,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wildair, 
sharply. 

Up  to  this  point  Miss  Jerusha  had  stood  fairly  stupefied. 
She  mistaken  for  a  beggar  I  She — Miss  Jernsha  Glory  Ann 
Skamp — whose  ward  was  lady  of  this  great  house  I  For  an 
instant  she  was  speechless,  with  the  blood  of  all  the 
Skamps  boiling  within  her,  and  then  she  burst  out : 

"Why,  you  yeller  old  lantern-jawed  be-frizzled  be- 
flowered,  impident  old  woman,  to  call  me  a  beggar  !  Oh, 
my  gracious  !  to  think  I  should  be  called  that  in  my  old 
ages  o'  life  ?  A  beggar  !  My-y-y  conscience  I  If  you  hev 
the  impidence  to  call  me  that  agin,  I'll — I'll " 

**  Turn  her  out,  she  is  crazy  I  turn  her  out,  I  tell  yon," 


III 


: 


'      -l 


»     !. 

it    '■ 


\  ^  18 


AAA 


BOWING    TEE     WIND, 


l!       ■.!! 


ii 


W 


11! 


Baid  Mrs.  Wildair,  white  with  passion.    ''  Do  yon  htar  muf 
Wilson  ?  Turn  this  old  wretch  out." 

The  noise  had  now  brought  a  crowd  down  into  the  hall, 
who  stood  gazing  in  mingled  curiosity  and  amusement  on 
this  scene  between  the  lady  and  the  beggar,  as  they  sup- 
posed her  to  be. 

"  Turn  me  out !  Let  them  try  it  !**  exclaimed  M«m 
Jerusha,  looking  daggers  at  the  startled  Wilson. 

"  Do  you  hear  me,  sir  ?  Am  I  to  be  obeyed  ?  Turn  this 
woman  out,"  said  Mrs.  Wildair,  stamping  her  foot. 

"  Touch  her  if  you  dare  V*  screamed  a  fierce  voice  ;  and 
Georgia,  with  blazing  eyes  and  passionate  face,  rushed 
through  the  crowd,  flashed  passed  Mrs.  Wildair,  and  stood, 
white,  panting,  and  fierce,  like  a  hunted  stag  at  bay,  beside 
Miss  Jerusha.  *'  Lay  one  finger  on  her  at  your  peril !  How 
dare  you,  madam !"  she  almost  screamed,  facing  round  sc 
suddenly  on  the  startled  lady  that  she  recoiled.  "How 
dare  you  order  her  out — how  dare  you  do  it  ?" 

"  Beally,  young  lady,"  said  Mrs.  Wildsir,  recovering 
her  calm  hauteur,  'Hhis  is  most  extraordinary  language 
addressed  to  me.  I  was  not  aware  that  persons  of  hei 
condition  were  ever  received  in  my  son's  house." 

"  Then  learn  it  now,"  said  Georgia,  fiercely  ;  "  while  1 
am  here,  this  house  shall  be  free  to  her  in  spite  of  you  alL 
Perhaps  you  are  not  aware,  madam,  who  she  is?" 

"  Some  of  your  relations,  most  probably,"  said  Mra 
Wildair,  with  a  withering  sneer.     "  She  looks  like  it." 

«  Mother  !  Georgia  i  What  in  the  name  of  wonder  is  all 
this?  "  exclaimed  a  hurried,  startled  voice;  aid  Rich 
mond  Wildair,  pale  and  excited,  made  his  way  toward 
them. 

It  means,  sir,  that  I  have  been  grossly  insulted  by  you 


<( 


sowma  THE  wisv. 


Ill 


wife/'  said  Mrs.  Wildair,  her  very  lips  white  w^th  anger ; 
"  insalted,  too,  in  the  presence  of  your  gnesta  ;  spoken  to 
as  I  never  was  spoken  to  before  in  my  life.** 

*•  Mother,  for  mercy's  sake,  hush  V*  he  said,  in  a  fieroe 
whisper,  his  face  crimson  with  shame.  *'  And,  Georgia,  if 
you  ever  loved  me,  retire  to  your  room  now,  and  make  no 
exhibition  before  these  people.  Miss  Jerasha,  persuade  her 
to  go  before  I  am  eternally  disgraced/' 

''  Come,  honey,  come  ;  I'll  go  with  you,''  said  Miss  Je- 
rusha,  tremulously,  quite  nervous  at  this  unexpected  scene. 
With  heaving  bosom  and  flashing  eyes  Georgia  stood, 
terrible  in  her  roused  wrath,  as  a  priestess  of  doom.  Miss 
Jerusha  put  her  arm  around  her  and  coaxingly  drew  her 
along,  and  passed  with  her  into  the  empty  breakfast  parlor 
near.  When  she  was  gone,  Richmond  turned  to  his  guests, 
who  stood  gazing  at  each  other  in  consternation,  and  forc- 
ing a  smile,  said  : 

"My  friends,  you  must  be  surprised  at  this  extraokdi* 
nary  scene,  but  it  will  not  appear  so  extraordinary  whet 
explained.  The  singular-looking  person  who  was  the  cause 
of  all  this  was  a  sort  of  guardian  of  my  wife,  and  upon  her 
entrance  here  my  mother,  deceived  by  her  singular  dress, 
mistook  her  for  a  beggar,  and  ordered  her  out.  An  alter- 
cation enaued,  which  my  wife  overheard,  and,  indignant  at 
what  she  supposed  a  direct  intentional  insult  to  her  old 
friend,  rushed  down,  and  in  the  excitement  cf  the  moment, 
thoughtlessly  uttered  the  hasty  words  you  have  all  over- 
heard. Mother,  I  beg  you  will  think  no  more  about  it ;  no 
one  will  regret  them  more  than  Georgia  herself  when  she 
oocls  down.  And  now,  there  goes  the  dinner-bell ;  so,  my 
friends,  we  will  f  vrget  this  disagreeable  little  icene,  and 
not  let  it  spoil  our  appetites/ 


u  ~ 


n 


MO 


SCWlJfG    THE    WIND. 


ill  ; 


Mi    i 


With  a  faint  smile  he  offered  his  arm  to  Mrs.  GleasoB 
and  led  the  way  to  the  dining-room,  saying,  as  she  did  so  : 

"  You  will  oblige  me  by  presiding  today,  mother.  Geor- 
gia, in  her  excitement,  will  not  care  to  retnm  to  table,  I 
fancy.*' 

With  a  stiff  bow  MrSb  Wildair  complied,  and  Rica< 
mond,  beckoning  to  a  servant,  whispered : 

"  Go  to  the  parlor  and  request  Mrs.  Wildair,  with  my 
oompliments,  to  retire  to  her  own  room,  and  say  I  wish  her 
to  remain  there  for  the  evening." 

"My  dear  cousin,"  said  a  low  voice,  and  the  small, 
sallow  hand  of  Freddy  was  laid  on  his  arm,  "  allow  me  to 
go.  It  would  mortify  our  proud  Georgia  to  death  to  have 
such  a  message  brought  by  a  servant.  Remember,  she 
only  spoke  hastily,  and  we  must  have  consideration  for  her 
feelings." 

<*My  dear,  kind  little  cousin,"  said  Richmond,  with 
emotion,  as  he  pressed  her  hand,  "  she  does  not  deserve 
this  from  you.  But  go,  lest  she  should  make  another  scene 
before  the  servants." 

With  her  silky  smile  Freddy  glided  out  and  opened 
the  parlor  door  without  ceremony.  Sitting  on  a  sofa  was 
Miss  Jerusha,  while  Georgia  crouched  before  her,  her  face 
bidden  in  her  lap,  her  whole  attitude  so  crushed,  desolate, 
and  full  of  anguish,  that  it  is  no  wonder  Miss  Jerusha 
was  exclaiming  between  her  sobs  : 

"  There,  honey,  there  !  don't  feel  it  «o.  I  wouldn't  if  I 
was  you.  Where's  the  good  of  mmding  of 'em  at  all? 
Don't,  honey,  don't !     It's  drefful  to  see  you  so." 

The  malicious  smile  deepened  and  brightened  oa 
Freddy's  evil  face  at  the  sight. 

Miss  Jerusha  looked  sharply  up  as  she  entered,  aad 


1  >'' 


•  i 


BOWING    THB    WIAL 


■eeing  her  triamphant  look,  her  te&is  seemed  turned  to 
sparks  of  fire. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  ?"  she  demanded. 

Without  noticing  her  by  look  or  word,  Freddy  went 
0ver  and  laid  her  hand  on  Georgia's  shoulder. 

"  Georgia/'  she  said,  authoritatively. 

With  a  bound  Georgia  leaped  to  her  feet,  and  with  eyes 
that  shone  like  coals  of  fire  in  a  face  perfectly  white,  she 
confronted  her  mortal  enemy. 

Freddy,  with  all  her  meanness,  was  no  coward,  else  she 
would  have  fled  at  sight  of  that  fearful  look.  As  it  was 
she  recoiled  a  step,  and  her  smile  faded  away  as  she  said: 

"My  consin  sent  me  here  to  tell  you  to  go  to  your  room 
and  stay  there  until  he  comes." 

Slowly  and  impressively  Georgia  lifted  her  head,  and 
keeping  her  gleaming,  burning  eyes  fixed  on  the  sallow  faoe 
before  her,  pointed  to  the  door. 

"  Go  I"  she  said,  in  a  hollow  voit^^e,  **  Gk>  !** 

Freddy  started,  and  her  face  flushed. 

<<I  have  delivered  my  message,  and  intend  to.  If  yon 
don't  do  as  my  cousin  orders  you — take  care,  that's  all.' 

"  Go  \"  repeated  the  hollow  tones,  that  startled  her  by 
their  yery  calmness,  so  unnatural  was  it. 

For  the  very  first  time  in  her  life  Freddy  Richmond  was 
terrified,  and  Miss  Jernsha  appalled.  Without  a  word,  the 
former  glided  past,  opened  the  door,  and  vanished. 

For  a  moment  Georgia  stood  stock-still,  like  one  turned 
to  stone,  and  then,  throwing  up  her  arms  with  a  great  cry, 
she  would  have  fallen  had  not  Miss  Jerusha  caught  hor. 

"  Oh,  my  heart !  my  heart  I"  she  cried,  \  ressing  hei 
Kands  over  it  as  though  it  were  breaking.  *'  Oh,  Miss 
Jerusha,  they  have  killed  me  I^' 


M 


if"'A 


982 


SOWING    THE    WIND. 


''  Oh,  Georgia !"  began  Miss  Jerusha,  \)nt  hei  roiot 
choked,  and  she  stopped. 

"  Oh,  leave  me  I  leave  me  1  dear,  best  friend  that  ever 
was  in  this  world,  leave  me,  and  never  come  to  this  dread- 
ful Lonse  again.  Oh,  Miss  Jerusha,  why  did  you  not  leave 
me  to  die  that  night  long  ago  !" 

Miss  Jerusha  essayed  to  speak,  but  Komething  rose  in 
her  throat  and  stopped  her.  Nothing  broke  the  silence 
of  the  room  but  her  sobs  and  that  passionate,  despairing 
voice. 

"  Go  !  leave  me  !  I  cannot  bear  you  should  stay  here  ; 
and  nevl^r,  never  oome  back  again,  Miss  Jerusha.  Oh,  me  ! 
oh,  me  !  that  I  were  dead !" 

There  was  such  painful  anguish  m  her  tones  that  Miss 
Jerusha  could  not  stay  to  listen.  Throwing  her  arms 
around  her  neck  in  one  passionate  embrace,  she  hurried 
from  the  house,  sobbing  hysterically,  and  startling  the  ser- 
vant who  opened  the  door. 

Then  Georgia  reeled  rather  than  walked  from  the  room, 
up  stairs,  and  into  her  own  bedroom  ;  and  there,  sinking 
down  on  the  floor,  she  lay  as  still  and  motionless  as  if  she 
were  indeed  dead.  For  hours  she  lay  thus,  as  if  frozen 
there,  as  if  she  would  never  rise  again — crushed,  humbled, 
degraded  to  the  dust.  Sounds  of  laughter  and  music  came 
wafted  up  the  stairs  ;  she  heard  the  voice  she  hated  most 
singing  a  gay  Italian  barcarole,  ind  now  another  voice 
joins  in — her  husband's. 

Oh,  Georgia,  your  hour  of  anguish  has  come,  and  where 
is  your  help  now  ?  Heaven  and  earth  are  dark  alike  ;  yon 
did  not  look  up  when  lifers  sunshine  shone  on  you,  and 
now,  in  your  utter  misery,  there  is  no  helper  near. 

Oh,  Georgia,  where,  in  yonr  humiliation,  ig  the  pride^ 


BEAPINO    T2£S    WHI.ULWIND. 


the  independtooe  that  has  supported  you  hitheitc  .*  Gone 
-Hswept  away,  like  a  reed  in  the  blast,  and  you  lie  there 
prostrate  on  the  earth,  prone  in  the  dust,  a  living  example 
of  human  helplessness,  unsupported  by  divine  grace. 

Hour  after  hour  passed,  and  still  she  lay  there.  The 
door  opened  at  last,  but  she  did  not  move.  The  footsteps 
she  knew  so  well  crossed  the  threshold,  but  she  was  motion- 
less. A  voice  pronounced  her  name,  and  a  shiver  ran 
through  her  whole  frame,  but  the  collapsed  form  was  still. 
A  hand  was  laid  on  her  arm,  and  she  was  lifted  to  her  feet 
and  borne  to  a  chair,  and  then  she  raised  her  sunken  eyei 
and  saw  the  stern  face  of  her  husband  bent  upon  her. 


CHAPTER  XVL 


XXAPHra  THB  WHIBLWniD. 


'*  Oh,  woman  wroDged  can  cherish  hate 
More  deep  and  dark  than  manhood  may.** 

WmTTODL 

''And  in  that  deep  and  utter  agony — 
Though  then  than  ever  most  unfit  to  die — 
She  fell  upon  her  knees  and  prayed  for  death.** 

;^]T  was  not  in  human  heart,  much  less  in  a  heiu^ 
that  loved  her  still,  to  gaze   on  that  death-like 
face  unmoved  ;  and  Richmond's  stern  gaze  re- 
laxed, and  his  brow  lost  its  cold  severity,  as  he 
knelt  beside  her  and  said  : 

"  Dearest  Georgia,  one  would  think  you  were  dying. 
Deeply  as  you  have  mortified  me,  I  have  not  the  heart  r.f» 
see  you  thiu  wretched.     Look  up-Hsmile — speak  to  me. 


'li 


I 


\ 


Ifi 


i^:. 


,  I 


!  1 


li 


S84 


BE  API  If  a  Tim  wmnLWiyiK 


What !  not  a  word?    Good  mercy,  how  deeply  yon  fees 
to  feel  these  things  I" 

"  Let  me  go,  Richmond  ;  I  am  tired  and  sick,  and  want 
to  be  alone." 

**  Yes,  you  are  sick  ;  the  fiery  spirit  within  you  is  wear* 
ing  out  your  body.  Oh,  Oeorgia  !  when  are  these  storms  of 
passion  to  cease  ?*' 

She  lifted  her  melancholy  black  eyes  to  his  face  with  a 
strange,  prolonged  gaze. 

"  When  I  am  dead.'* 

**  Oh,  Georgia,  sooner  than  that !  Oh,  tohi/  did  you 
insult  my  mother,  disgrace  me,  and  horrify  all  these  people 
to-day  I     Are  you  going  crazy,  Georgia  ?'* 

"  No  ;  I  wish  I  were." 

**  Georgia  I"  he  said,  shocked  as  much  by  her  slow, 
strange  tone  as  by  her  words. 

"  Perhaps  I  toUt  be  soon ;  yon  are  all  taking  a  good  way 
to  make  me  so." 

"  Georgia !" 

"  It  will  be  better  for  yov:,  yon  know — yon  can  marry  a 
lady  then." 

"  Georgia  P 

**  Oh,  you  can  marry  your  cousin — she  will  never  dii- 
g^ace  you,  Richmond,"  she  said,  with  a  strange,  short 
laugh. 

"GboboulI" 

"  Oh,  Richmond,  why  did  you  marry  me  ?  Whf/  did 
you  eyer  marry  me  ?"  she  cried,  suddenly  changing  her 
tone  to  one  of  piercing  anguish,  and  wringing  her  pale 
fingers. 

"Because,"  he  said,  flushing  deepiy,  "1  mistook  you 
for  a  noble-hearted,  generous  girl,  instead  of  the  yindictiYS^ 


BBAPlNa    THE    WHIRLWIND. 


3M 


rebellious  one  you  have  turned  out  to  be.  Because  I  made 
a  mistake,  as  many  another  has  done  before  me,  and  will  d« 
for  all  time.     Are  you  satisfied  now,  my  dear  ?'' 

She  rose  from  her  seat  and  paced  up  and  down,  wring 
ing  her  hands. 

"  Oh,  I  thought  I  would  have  been  so  happy  !  Yon  paid 
you  loved  me,  and  I  believed  you.  I  did  net  know  you 
wanted  a  wife  to  bear  the  brunt  of  your  mother's  sneers 
and  your  cousin's  insults — some  one  to  afford  a  subject  of 
laughter  to  your  friends.  Oh,  Richmond,  1  wish — I  wish 
I  had  died  before  I  ever  met  you  1" 

Richmond  stood  watching  her  in  silence  a  moment,  and 
the  look  of  marked  displeasure  again  settled  on  his  face. 

"  "Well,  really,  this  is  pleasant  I"  he  said,  slowly.  "  You 
can  act  the  part  of  the  termagant  to  the  life.  Mistress 
Georgia.  I  expected,  and  I  believe  so  did  all  the  rest,  to 
see  you  knock  my  mother  down  a  little  while  ago  ;  that,  I 
presume,  will  be  the  next  exhibition.  You  have  made  out 
a  long  list  of  complaints  against  me  during  the  past ;  take 
care  that  I  do  not  turn  the  tables  "^nd  accuse  you  of  some- 
thing worse  than  being  a  virago,  my  lady." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  not  be  surprised.  Say  and  do  what  yon 
please  ;  nothing  will  astonish  me  now.  Oh,  that  it  were 
not  a  crime  to  die  !"  she  cried,  passionately  wringing  her 
hands. 

"  Well,  madam,  you  do  not  believe  in  hell,  you  know,** 
he  said,  with  a  sneer,  "  so  what  does  it  matter  ?" 

**  Two  months  ago  I  did  not,  Richmond  ;  now  I  know 
of  it." 

The  frown  deepened  on  his  brow. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Mrs.  WiMair  *"  be  muA^ 
botly. 


286 


REAPING    THE    WniRLWlND, 


! 


**  Nothing/'  she  replied,  with  a  cold  smile. 

"  Have  a  oare,  m)  lady  ;  your  taunts  may  be  sarried  toe 
far.  It  ill  becomes  you  to  take  the  offensive  after  what  hat 
passed  this  afternoon." 

"  After  what  has  passed  !  By  that  you  mean,  I  supposOi 
my  preventing  your  mother  fiom  making  the  servants  turn 
my  best,  my  dearest  friend,  into  the  street  like  a  dog," 
she  said,  stopping  in  her  walk  and  facing  him. 

'*  My  mother  mistook  her  for  a  beggar.  How  was  she 
to  know  she  was  anything  to  you  ?" 

Georgia  broke  into  a  scornful  laugh,  and  resumed  her 
walk. 

**  Positively,  Mrs.  Wildair,*'  said  Richmond,  flnshiDg 
crimson  with  anger,  '<  this  insulting  conduct  is  too  much. 
If  I  cannot  command  your  obedience,  I  at  least  insist  on 
your  respect.  And  as  we  are  upon  the  subject,  I  beg  in 
your  intercourse  with  one  of  my  guests  you  will  remember 
yon  are  a  wedded  wife.  You  seem  to  have  forgotten  it 
pretty  well  up  to  the  present,  both  of  you." 

She  had  sunk  on  a  sofa,  her  face  hidden  in  the  cushions, 
her  hands  clasped  over  her  heart,  as  if  to  still  the  intoler- 
able pain  there.  She  made  no  reply  to  the  words  that  had 
struck  her  ear,  but  conveyed  no  meaning,  and  after  wait- 
ing in  vain  for  an  answer,  he  resumed,  with  a  still  deepen- 
ing frown  : 

'*  You  will  not  honor  me  with  an  answer,  madam.  Prob* 
ably  your  smiles  and  answers  are  all  alike  reserved  for  the 
fascinating  Captain  Arlingford.  How  do  yon  intend  to 
meet  my  mother,  Mrs.  Wildair,  after  vrhat  has  happened 
to-day  r 

*'  Oh,  Richmond,  I  do  not  know  !  Oh,  Richmond^  do^ 
do  leave  me !" 


RSAPINQ    THB    WSlRLWUm. 


*•  Madam  I" 

"  I  am  BO  tired,  and  so  sick.  I  cannot  talk  to-night  I'*  ih* 
cried  oat,  lifting  her  bowed  head,  and  clasping  her  hands  to 
her  throbbing  temples. 

"Be  it  so,  then,  madam.  I  shall  not  intrude  again," 
said  Richmond,  as,  with  a  face  dark  with  anger,  he  turned 
and  left  the  room. 

Next  morning  at  breakfast  Georgia  did  not  appear. 
There  was  an  embarrassment — a  restraint  upon  all  present, 
which  deepened  when  the  unconscious  Captain  Arlingford, 
ihe  only  one  who  ventured  to  pronounce  her  name,  inquired 
''or  Mrs.  Wildair. 

A  dusky  fire,  the  baleful  fire  of  jealousy,  flamed  up  in 
Richmond  Wildair's  eyes.  Freddy  and  his  mother  saw  it, 
and  exchanged  glances,  and  the  old  evil  smile  broke  over 
the  former's  face. 

"  She  was  indisposed  last  night,"  said  Mr.  Wildair,  with 
freezing  coldness,  '*  and  I  presume  has  not  yet  sufiiciently 
recovered  to  be  ftble  to  join  us  at  table.  You  will  have  the 
happiness  of  seeing  her  at  dinner,  Captain  Arlingford." 

There  was  something  in  his  tone  that  made  Captain 
Arlingford  look  up,  and  Mrs.  Wildair,  fearing  a  public  dis- 
agreement, which  did  not  suit  her  purpose  at  all,  said  hast- 
ily in  a  tone  of  the  most  motherly  solicitude  : 

"  Poor,  dear  child.  I  am  afraid  that  little  affair  of  yet- 
terday  has  mortified  her  to  death.  Freddy,  love,  do  go  up 
to  her  room,  and  see  how  she  is." 

Now  Miss  Freddy,  who  was  a  most  prudent  young 
lady,  for  sundry  good  reasons  of  her  own,  would  have  pre- 
ferred at  first  not  bearding  the  lioness  in  her  den,  but  after 
an  instant's  thought,  the  desire  of  exulting  over  her  proved 
too  strong  for  her  fears,  and  she  rose  with  alacrity  from 


Jf 


REAPING    THE    WHIRL  WHO). 

her  seat,  and  with  her  unvarying  smile  on  htr  face^  pMsedl 
from  the  room,  and  up  stairs. 

Upon  reaching  Georgia's  door  she  halted,  and  disoreetly 
peeped  through  the  keyhole.  Nothing  was  to  be  seen, 
however,  and  the  silence  of  the  grave  reigned  within.  She 
softly  turned  the  handle  of  the  door,  but  it  was  locked,  and 
after  hesitating  a  moment,  she  rapped.  Her  summons  was 
at  ^rst  unanswered,  and  was  repeated  loudly  three  or  four 
times  before  the  door  swung  back,  and  Georgia,  pale  and 
haggard,  with  disordered  hair  and  garments,  stood  before 
her.  So  changed  was  she  that  Freddy  started  back,  and 
then,  recovering  herself,  she  drew  a  step  nearer,  folded  her 
arms,  and  looked  up  in  her  face  with  a  steady,  insolent 
smile.  But  that  smile  seemed  to  have  no  effect  upon 
Georgia,  who,  white,  cold,  and  statue-like,  stood  looking 
down  upon  her  from  the  depths  of  her  great  black  eyes. 

"  Good-morning,  my  dear  Georgia,''  she  said,  smiling. 
**  Captain  Arlingford  sends  his  compliments,  and  begs  to 
know  how  you  are." 

There  was  no  reply  to  this  insulting  speech.  The  black 
eyes  never  moved  in  their  steady  gaze. 

<*  What  shall  I  tell  the  handsome  captain,  Gecrgia  ?^ 
continued  the  little  fiend.  <*  He  was  inquiring  most 
anxiously  for  you  this  morning.  Shall  I  say  you  will 
relieve  that  anxiety  by  gracing  our  dinner  table  ?  Allow 
me  to  insinuate,  in  case  you  do,  that  it  would  be  advisable 
to  use  a  little  rouge,  or  they  will  think  a  corpse  has  risen 
from  the  church-yard  to  take  the  head  of  Richmond  Wildair's 
table.  And,  worse  than  all,  the  flame  with  which  your  red 
cheeks  inspired  the  gallant  captain  will  go  out  like  a  candle 
under  an  extinguisher  at  sight  of  that  whity-brown  com- 
plexion.    Say,  Georgia,  tell  me  in  confidence  how  did  yo« 


I* 


RBAPINO    THE    WHIRZWIND, 


2W 


get  np  that  high  color?  As  you  and  I  are  sach  near 
friends  you  might  let  me  know,  that  I  may  improve  my 
own  sallow  couutenanoe  likewise." 

No  reply — the  tall  form  was  rigid — the  white  face  cold 
and  set — the  black  eyes  fixed — the  pale  lips  mute. 

"  Mrs.  Wildair  and  Mrs.  Colonel  Gleason  used  to  insist 
it  was  liquid  rouge,  but  Captain  Arlingford  and  I  knew 
better,  and  told  them  all  country  girls  had  great  flaming 
red  cheeks  just  like  that.  We  were  right,  were  we  not, 
Georgia  ?" 

Still  dumb.  Her  silence  was  beginning  to  startle  even 
Freddy's  admirable  equanimity. 

'*  And  now,  my  dear  Georgia^  I  must  really  tear  myself 
away  from  you.  When  shall  I  say  we  are  to  be  honored 
by  your  charming  presence  again  ?" 

The  white  lips  parted,  one  hand  was  slightly  raised. 

**  Are  you  done  ?"  she  said,  in  a  voice  so  husky  that  it 
was  almost  inaudible. 

"  Ye — yes,"  said  Freddy,  startled  in  spite  of  herself, 
"  1  only  await  you>:  answer,  my  dear.'* 

For  all  answer,  Georgia  stepped  back,  closed  the  door 
ID  the  very  face  of  the  insolent  girl,  and  locked  it. 

For  one  moment  Freddy  stood  transfixed,  while  her 
tallow  face  grew  sallower,  and  her  thin  lips  fairly  trembled 
with  impotent  rage.  Turning  a  look  of  concentrated  spite 
and  hatred  toward  the  door,  she  descended  the  stairs. 

"  Well,  Freddy,"  said  Mrs.  Wildair,  when  she  re-entered 
ike  parlor,  "how  is  Georgia?" 

"  Not  very  well,  I  should  say,  by  her  looks — ^how  she 
felt,  she  did  not  condescend  to  tell  me,"  unable  for  onc«  to 
suppress  the  bitterness  she  felt. 

Richmond,  who  was  chatting  with  Miss  Reiii  and  Miss 


t'  i: 


240 


BEAPINO    THE    WHIRLWIND, 


I 


Harper^  started,  and  a  faint  tinge  of  color  ehone  on  kii 
oheek. 

**  When  is  she  coming  down  ?'*  asked  Mrs.  Wildair. 

"  My  dear  aunt,  Mrs.  Georgia,  for  some  reason  of  hei 
own,  Raw  6t  to  answer  none  cf  my  questions.  She  alosod 
the  door  in  my  face  by  way  of  reply. " 

Richmond  began  talking  rapidly,  and  with  so  much 
em }yr  easement  J  to  his  two  companions  that  languid  Miss  Reid 
lifted  her  large  sleepy-looking  eyes  in  faint  wonder,  and  a 
malicious  smile  curled  the  lips  of  Miss  Harper. 

A  sleighing  party  was  to  be  the  order  of  the  day,  and, 
after  breakfast,  the  ladies  hurried  to  their  rooms  to  don 
their  furs  and  cloaks  ;  and  Richmond,  seizing  the  first 
opportunity,  hurried  to  Georgia's  room  and  knocked  loadly 
and  authoritatively  at  the  door. 

It  did  not  open  ;  all  was  silent  within. 

*'  Georgia,  open  the  door,  1  command  yon  !'*  he  said,  in 
a  voice  of  suppressed  passion.  '*  Open  the  door  this 
instant  ;  I  insist." 

It  opened  slowly,  and  he  saw  the  collapsed  and  haggard 
face  of  his  wife,  but  he  was  tco  deeply  angry  to  heed  or 
care  for  her  looks  at  that  moment.  Entering  the  room,  he 
closed  the  door,  and  with  a  light  in  his  eyes  and  a  look  in 
his  face  that,  with  all  his  anger,  he  had  never  -vorn  hith- 
erto, he  confronted  her. 

"Madam,  what  did  yon  mean  by  your  conduct  to  my 
cousin  this  morning  ?"  he  said,  in  a  tone  that  he  had  never 
nsed  to  her  before. 

A  spasm  shot  across  her  face,  and  she  reeled  as  if  the 
had  received  a  blow. 

**  Oh,  Richmond  !  oh,  my  husband  I  do  not  say  that 


rbat:ng   the  whirlwind. 


Ml 


ycu  knew  of  bor  ocming  this  morning  !**  she  cried  in  tones 
of  such  anguish  as  he  had  never  heard  before. 

"  I  did  know  it,  madam  !  And  when  she  was  generoai 
and  forgiving  enough  to  forget  your  insolent  treatment, 
and  come  to  ask  how  you  were,  she  should  have  been 
treated  otherwise  than  having  the  door  slammed  in  her 
face,"  he  said  in  a  voice  quivering  with  passion. 

She  did  not  speak — she  could  not.  Dizzily  she  sat  down 
with  her  h  aids  over  her  heart,  always  her  habit  when  the 
pain  there  was  most  acute. 

Se  knew,  then,  of  this  last  deadly  insult — he  sano- 
tioned  it — he  encouraged  it.  His  cousin  was  all  the  world 
to  him — she  was  nothing.  It  only  needed  this  to  fill  the 
onp  of  her  degradation  to  the  brim.  Her  hands  tightened 
involuntarily  over  her  heart,  she  could  not  help  it ;  she  felt 
as  though  it  were  breaking. 

"  And  now,  madam,  since  you  will  persist  in  your  inso- 
lent course,  listen  to  me.  You  shall  not  ^ny  longer  slight 
the  guests,  who  do  you  too  much  honor — yes,  madam,  I 
repeat  it,  who  do  you  too  much  honor,  by  residing  under 
the  same  roof  with  you.  Since  my  requests  are  unheeded, 
listen  to  my  commands  I  We  are  all  now  going  ont  to 
drive  ;  in  four  hours  we  will  return,  and  see  that  you  are 
dressed  and  in  the  drawing-room  ready  to  receive  us  when 
we  come.  I  do  not  ask  you  to  do  this.  I  command  yon, 
and  you  refuse  at  your  peril !  Leave  off  this  ghastly  look, 
and  all  the  rest  of  your  tantrums,  my  lady,  and  try  to  act 
the  courteous  hostess  for  once.  Remember,  now,  and  try 
to  recall  your  broken  vow  of  wifely  obedience  for  the  first 
time  ;  for,  as  sure  as  Heaven  hears  me,  if  you  dare  disobey 
yon  shall  repent  it !  I  did  not  wish  to  speak  thus,  but  yoo 
have  oompelled  me,  and  now  that  I  have  been  aroused  jon 
11 


h.\ 


li'\ 


i>     i; 


lil 


842 


REAPING    THE    WHIRLWIND. 


Bhall  le?.rii  what  it  is  to  brave  me  with  impunity.  MPidam, 
look  up  ;  have  you  hoard  me  ?" 

She  lifted  her  eyes,  so  full,  in  their  dark  depths  of  att«r 
woe,  of  undying  despair. 

"  Tea:' 

"  And  you  will  obey  V* 

«  Yes." 

''  See  that  you  do  I  And  remember,  no  more  scenes  of 
Tolgar  violence.  Chain  your  unbridled  passions,  and  be- 
have as  one  in  your  sane  mind  for  once.  You  shall  have 
to  take  care  what  you  are  at  for  the  future,  mistress  I" 

And  with  this  last  menace,  he  departed  to  join  his 
guests  in  their  excursion. 

For  upward  of  three  hours  after  he  left  her,  she  lay  as 
she  had  Iain  iiU  that  livelong  night,  prostrate,  rigid,  and 
motionless.  Others  in  her  situation  might  have  shed  tears, 
but  Georgia  had  none  to  shed ;  her  eyes  were  dry  and 
burning,  her  lips  parched  ;  natures  like  hers  do  not  weep, 
in  their  deadliest  straits  the  heart  sheds  tears  of  blood. 

She  arose  at  last,  and  giddily  crossed  the  room,  and 
rang  the  bell..    Her  maid  answered  the  summons. 

"  Susan,"  she  said,  lifting  her  heavy  eyes,  "  make  haste 
and  dress  me.    I  am  going  down  to  the  drawing-room." 

**  What  vill  you  please  to  wear,  madam  ?"  said  Susan, 
looking  at  her  in  wonder. 

**  Anything,  anything,  it  does  not  matter,  only  make 
haste,"  she  said,  slowly. 

Susan,  thus  left  to  herself,  arrayed  her  mistress  in  a  rich 
crimson  satin,  with  heavy  frills  of  lace,  bound  her  shining 
black  hair  around  her  head  in  elaborate  plaits  and  braids, 
fastened  her  ruby  earrings  in  her  small  ears,  clasped  a 
bracelet  set  with  the  same  fiery  jewels  on  her  beautiful 


REAPING    TEE    WHIRLWIND, 


ronnded  arm,  and  theD,  finally,  seeing  even  the  crimson 
satin  did  not  lend  a  glow  to  the  deadly  pale  face,  she  ap- 
plied roage  to  the  cheeks  and  lips,  until  Georgia  was 
apparently  as  blooming  as  ever  before  her.  And  all  this 
time  she  had  sat  like  a  statue,  like  a  milliner's  lay  figure, 
to  be  dressed,  unheeding,  unnoticing  it  all,  until  Susan  had 
finished. 

"  Will  yon  please  to  see  if  you  will  do,  ma'am,'*  said 
Susan,  respectfully. 

Georgia  lifted  her  languid  eyes  to  the  beautiful  face  and 
form  in  its  dark,  rich  beauty  and  fiery  costume,  and  said 
faintly  : 

"  Yeo  ;  you  have  done  very  well.    Tou  can  go  now." 

The  i^irl  departed,  and  Georgia  sat  with  her  armi 
dropped  listlessly  by  her  side,  her  heavy  lashes  sweeping 
her  cheek  unconscious  of  the  flight  of  time.  Suddenly  the 
merry  jingle  of  many  sleigh-bells  dashing  up  the  avenue, 
mingled  with  silvery  peals  of  laughter,  broke  upon  her  ear, 
and  she  started  to  her  feet,  pressed  her  hand  to  her  fore- 
head, as  if  to  still  the  pulse  so  loudly  beating  there,  and 
then  walked  from  the  room,  and  descended  the  stairs. 

As  f  he  reached  the  hall,  the  whole  party  laughing  and 
talking,  with  flushed  cheeks,  and  sparkling  eyes,  flashed  in, 
and  the  next  instant,  like  one  in  a  dream,  she  felt  herself 
surrounded,  listening  to  them  all  talking  at  once,  without 
comprehending  a  word. 

"  Of  course  she  is  better.  See  what  a  high  color  she 
has,''  said  the  roice  of  Freddy  Richmond,  the  first  she 
clearly  distinguished  amid  the  din. 

"  I  strongly  disapprove  of  rouging,"  said  Mrs.  Wildair, 
in  an  audible  whisper,  to  Mrs.  Gleason,  as  they  both  swept 
ttp  stairs  with  a  great  rustling  of  silks. 


\i 


H4 


REAPING    THE    WHIRLWIND, 


"  What  a  bewildered  look  she  has,"  said  Miss  Harper, 
with  a  slight  laugh,  as  she  too,  brushed  past ;  "  one  would 
tLink  she  was  walking  in  a  dream." 

"  Here  comes  Captain  Arlingford,  Hattie,  dear,"  as  she 
tripped  after  her  ;  "  she  will  awake  now." 

Poor  Georgia  !  she  did  indeed  feei  like  one  in  a  dream  ; 
yet  she  heard  every  jibe  as  plainly  as  even  the  speakers 
eould  wish,  but  she  replied  not. 

**  My  dear  Mrs.  Wildair,  I  am  rejoiced  to  see  you  again, 
and  looking  so  well  too,"  said  the  frank,  manly  voice  of 
Captain  Arlingford,  as  he  shook  her  hand  warmly.  '*  I 
trust  you  have  quite  recovered  from  your  late  indisposition.'* 

"  Quite,  I  thank  you,"  said  Georgia,  trying  to  smile. 
Every  voice  and  every  look  she  had  lately  heard  had  been 
so  cold  and  harsh  that  her  languid  pulses  gave  a  grateful 
bound  at  the  honest,  hearty  warmth  of  the  frank  young 
sailor's  tone. 

Richmond  Wildair  had  just  entered  in  time  to  witness 
this  little  scene,  and  something  as  near  a  scowl  as  his  serene 
brow  conld  ever  wear,  darkened  it  at  that  very  moment. 
Well  has  it  been  said  that  **  jealousy  is  as  cruel  as  the 
grave,"  it  is  also  willfully  blind.  The  very  openness,  the 
very  onndor  of  this  greeting,  might  have  disarmed  all  sus- 
picion bat  Richmond  Wildair  would  not  see  anything  but 
his  earnest  eagerness,  and  the  smile  that  rewarded  him. 

Going  up  to  Georgia,  he  brushed  almost  rudely  past 
Arlingforl,  and,  offering  her  his  arm,  he  said  coldly  : 

<'  Tou  will  take  cold  standing  in  this  draught,  my  dear ; 
allow  me  to  lead  you  to  the  drawing-room." 

At  his  look  and  tone  the  smile  died  away.  He  mw  it| 
and  tke  scowl  deepened. 


:f 


REAPING    TEE    WHIRL  WIND. 


Placing  her  on  a  sofa,  he  stooped  over  and  said  m  ft 
kissing  whisper  in  her  ear : 

«  Do  not  too  openly  show  your  preference  for  the  gal- 
lant captain  this  evening,  Mrs.  Wildair.  If  yon  cannot  dis- 
simnlate  for  my  sake,  try  it  for  yonr  own.  People  cot7/talk, 
you  know,  if  your  partiality  is  too  public." 

A  flash  like  sheet-lightning  leaped  from  Georgia's  eyes, 
as  the  insulting  meaning  of  his  words  flashed  upon  her  ; 
she  caught  her  breath  and  sprang  to  her  feet,  but  with  a 
bow  and  a  smile  he  turned  and  was  gone. 

"  Oh,  mercy  !  that  I  were  dead  !"  was  the  passionate  cry 
wrung  from  her  anguished  heart  at  this  last  worst  blow  of 
all.  **  Oh,  this  is  the  very  climax  of  wrong  and  insult ! 
Oh,  what,  what  have  I  done  to  be  treated  thus  ?" 

How  this  evening  passed  Georgia  never  knew.  As  Miss 
Harper  had  said,  she  was  like  one  in  a  dream,  but  it  was 
over  at  last ;  and,  totally  worn  out  and  exhausted,  she  was 
sleeping  a  deep  dreamless  sleep  oi  utter  prostration. 

Next  morning,  at  the  breakfast  table,  Henry  Gleason 
suddenly  called  out — 

"  Well,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  what's  to  be  the  bill  of 
fare  for  to-day  ?'* 

«  Somebody  was  talking  of  teaching  us  to  skate  yester- 
day,'* said  Miss  Harper.  "I  want  to  learn  dreadfully. 
What  do  you  say  to  going  down  to  that  pond  we  were 
looking  at  and  giving  us  our  first  lesson." 

"  I'm  there  I"  said  Master  Henry,  whose  language  was 
always  more  emphatic  than  choice,  ''  what  do  you  say,  all 
of  yon  young  shavers  ?" 

<<  I  second  the  motion  for  one,**  said  Mr.  Curtis 

« And  I  for  another,"  said  Lieutenant  Gleason,  aad  • 
maiversal  assent  came  from  the  gentlemen. 


t4A 


REAPING    THE    WHIRL  WIIW. 


i 


"  And  what  says  oar  host  ?"  said  Miss  Harper,  with  a 
smile. 

"That  he  is  always  delighted  to  sanction  anything 
Miss  Harper  proposes,"  he  said,  'with  a  bow. 

<'And  what  says  oar  hostess?"  said  Captain  Arlingford, 
turning  to  Georgia,  who  with  her  fictitioas  bloom  gone,  sat 
pale  and  languid  at  the  head  of  the  table. 

**  That  she  is  afraid  yoa  will  have  to  hold  her  ezcased," 
replied  Georgia.  "I  scarcely  fe<3l  well  enough  to  accom- 
pany you." 

*<  Yoa  are  indeed  looking  ill,"  said  Miss  Arliugford,  anx- 
iously ;  **  pray  allow  me  to  stay  with  you,  then,  as  yoa 
are  unable  to  go  out." 

**  And  me  too  I "  sung  out  Henry  Gleason  so  eagerly 
that  the  mouthful  he  was  eating  went  the  wrong  way, 
nearly  producing  strangulation.  "  There  is  not  much  fun 
in  teaching  girls  to  skate  ;  all  they  do  is  stand  on  their  feet 
a  mmute,  then  squeal  out,  and  flop  down  like  a  lot  of  bad 
balloons,  and  then  get  up  and  screech  and  go  head  over 
heels  again.  It's  twice  as  jolly  hearing  Miss  Arlingford 
sing." 

Miss  Arlingford  laughed,  and  bowed  her  thanks  for  the 
compliment. 

"And  may  I  beg  to  stay  too?"  said  Captain  Arling- 
ford ;  "  I  am  really  getting  quite  played  out  with  so  much 
exertion,  and  mean  to  take  life  easy  for  a  day  or  two. 
Come  now,  Mrs.  Wildair,  be  merciful  to  Harry  and  me?" 

"  I  think  you  had  better  try  to  join  us,  Georgia,"  said 
Richmond,  with  no  very  pleased  look;  "the  air  will  do 
you  good." 

"  Indeed  I  cannot,"  said  Georgia,  who  was  half  blinded 
with  a  throbbing  headache  ;  "  my  head  aches,  and  I  beg 


REAPlUa    THE    WHIULWINJ), 


HI 


yon  will  excuse  me.  But  I  cannot  think  of  depriving  any 
of  you  of  trhe  pleasure  of  going,  though  I  thank  you  fof 
your  kind  consideration." 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Wildair,  I  positively  shall  not  take  a  re- 
fusal,'' said  Miss  Arlingford,  who  saw  that  it  would  do 
better  not  to  leave  Georgia  alone  with  her  morbid  fan  lies. 
"  I  shall  take  it  quite  unkindly  if  you  send  me  away.  I 
shall  try  if  I  cannot  exorcise  your  headache  by  some  music, 
and  I  really  must  intercede,  too,  for  my  young  friend. 
Master  Harry  here,  who  was  delightful  enough  to  compli- 
ment me  a  little  while  ago." 

"  And  will  no  one  intercede  for  me  ?"  said  the  captain. 

"  I  will,"  said  Harry.     "  We  three  will  have  a  real  nice 

good  time  all  to  ourselves ^hanged  if  we  don't  I     Oh, 

Miss  Arlingford,  you're  a — a  brick  /  you  are  so  I"  he  ex- 
claimed enthusiastically  ;  '*  and  Mrs.  Georgia,  I  guess  you'd 
better  let  Arlingford  stay  too.  Three  ain't  company,  and 
four  ia." 

And  «  Do,  Mrs.  Wildair !"  «  Do,  Mrs.  Georgia,"  chimed 
in  Captain  and  Miss  Arlingford  laughingly.  And  Georgia, 
unable  to  refuse  without  positive  rudeness,  smiled  a  faint 
assent. 

For  one  instant  a  scowl  of  midnight  blackness  lingered 
on  the  face  of  Richmond,  the  next  it  was  gone,  and  Geor- 
gia saw  him,  smiling  and  gay,  set  off  with  the  rest  on  their 
skating  excursion. 

The  dinner  hour  was  past  before  they  arrived.  Georgia 
had  spent  a  pleasanter  morning  than  she  had  for  many  a 
day,  and  there  was  something  almost  like  cheerfulness  in 
her  tone  as  she  addressed  some  questions  to  her  husband 
after  his  return.    He  did  not  reply,  but  turned  on  her  ft 


M' 


V 


24S 


REAPING    THE    WBIBLWIND, 


terrible  look,  that  sent  her  sick  and  faint  back  Jk  he:  seat, 
and  then,  without  a  word,  he  passed  on  and  was  gene. 

That  look  was  destined  to  overthrow  all  Georgia's  new- 
found calmness  for  that  day.  She  scarcely  understood 
what  had  caused  it.  Surely  he  must  have  known  she  was 
ill,  she  thought,  and  not  fitted  to  join  in  an  excursion  like 
that,  and  surely  he  could  not  be  angry  at  her  for  staying  at 
home  while  too  sick  to  go  out.  Feeling  that  the  gayety  of 
the  drawing-room  that  evening  was  like  *'  vinegar  upon 
niter"  to  her  feelings,  she  quitted  it  and  passed  out  into  the 
long  hall.  The  moon  was  shining  brightly  through  the 
glass  sides  of  the  door,  and  she  leaned  her  burning  fore- 
head against  the  cold  panes  and  looked  out  at  the  bright 
stars  shining  down  on  the  placid  earth. 

There  was  a  rustle  of  garments  behind  her,  a  soft  cat- 
like step  she  knew  too  well,  and  turning  round  she  saw  the 
hateful  face  with  its  baleful  smile  fixed  upon  her. 

A  flush  of  indignation  covered  her  pale  face  Could 
she  not  move  a  step  without  being  dogged  by  this  creat- 
ure? 

**  Well,  Mrs.  Georgia,"  began  Freddy,  with  a  sneer,  "1 
hope  you  had  a  pleasant  time  to-day  with  the  gay  sailor." 

Georgia  clinched  her  hands  and  set  her  teeth  hard 
together  to  keep  down  her  rising  passioii. 

*'  Leave  me  I"  she  said,  with  an  imperious  stamp. 

''  Oh,  just  let  me  stay  a  little  while,"  said  Freddy,  jeer- 
ingly.  "  What  confidence  he  must  have  m  you  to  make  an 
appointment  in  the  very  face  of  your  husband  1" 

"  Will  you  leave  me?" 

"Not  just  yet,  my  dear  cousin/'  Freddy  said,  smiling 
up  m  her  face.    "  What  a  romantic  thing  it  would  be  if 


EEAPJNG    THE    WHIRLWIND. 


24fi 


were  to  h&ve  an  elopement  in  real  life — how  oelightful  it 
would  be,  wouldn't  it  ?" 

Georgia's  face  grew  ghastly,  even  to  her  lips,  and  hei 
whole  frame  shook  with  the  storm  of  passion  raging  with- 
in.    Freddy  saw  it,  and  exulted  in  her  power. 

"  How  delightfully  jealous  Richmond  is,  to  be  sure,  ol 
his  pauper  bride  and  he?  sailor  lover  ;  how  his  friends  will 
talk  when  they  go  baci.  to  the  city — and  how  Mrs.  Wildair, 
of  Richmond  Hall,  who  is  too  much  of  a  fool  ever  to  know 
how  to  carry  out  an  intrigue  properly,  will  be  laughed  at. 
Ha  I  ha  !  ha !  what  delicious  scenes  have  been  witaessed 
here  since  we  came,  to  bo  sure." 

What  demon  was  it  leaped  into  Georgia's  eyes  at  that 
moment — what  meant  her  awful,  calm,  and  terrible  look  ? 

"  How  will  it  read  in  the  papers  ?  *  We  are  pained  to 
learn  that  the  young  and  beautiful  wife  of  Richmond  Wil 
dair,  Esq.,  of  Bumfield,  eloped  last  night.  The  gay  Adonis 
is  Captain  Arlingford,  U.  S.  N.,  who  was,  we  believe,  at 
the  time,  the  honored  guest  of  the  wronged  husband.  Mr. 
Wildair  has  pursued  the  guilty  coiijple,  and  a  duel  will 
probably  be  the  consequence  of  this  sad  affair.'  Ha  !  ha  I 
What  do  you  think  of  my  imagination,  Georgia  ?" 

No  reply ;  but,  oh  1  that  dreadful  look  ! 

**  Oh,  the  insolence  of  earth-worms  like  you/'  continued 
Freddy,  in  her  bitter  gibing  tone,  "  you  dare  to  lift  your 
eyes  to  one  who  would  have  honored  you  too  much  by  let- 
ting you  wipe  the  dust  off  his  shoes.  You,  the  parish 
pauper,  reared  by  the  bounty  of  a  wretched  old  hag — you^ 
the  child  of  a  strolling  player,  who  died  on  the  roadside  like 
a  dog — ^yoa,  the  " 

But  she  never  finished  the  sentence.  With  the  awful 
shriek  of  a  demon — a  shriek  that  those  who  heard  oeuld 

n* 


I'tH 


200 


GONE. 


never  forget,  Georgia  sprang  upon  her,  caught  her  by  th« 
throat,  and  hurled  her  with  the  strength  of  madness  against 
the  wall. 

With  a  faint  cry,  strangled  in  Its  birth,  Freddy  held  up 
her  handa  to  save  herself ;  but  she  was  as  a  child  in  the 
fierce  grasp  of  the  woman  she  had  infuriated. 

Ere  the  last  cadence  of  that  terrible  shriek  had  ceased 
ringing  through  the  houce,  every  one,  servants,  guests  and 
all,  were  on  the  spot.  And  there  they  saw  Georgia  stand- 
ing like  an  incarnate  fury,  and  Frederica  RichmoncI  lying 
motionless  on  the  ground,  her  face  deluged  in  blood. 


CHAPTER  XVIL 


ooinL 


^'Ok,  bfeek,  break  heart!  poor  bankrupt,  b^eak  at  once.** 

— Shakespkabs. 
*' Break,  break,  break.. 

At  the  foot  of  the  crags,  O  sea  I 

Bat  the  tender  grace  of  d<.y  that  is  dead 

Will  never  come  back  to  me.'* 

— Tehnysor. 

I  HERE  was  an  instant  deatb-like  pause,  and  all 
gazed,  white  with  horror,  on  the  scene  before 
them.  Freddy  lay  perfectly  motionless,  and 
Georgia,  terrific  in  her  roused  wrath,  /Stood 
over  her  like  some  dark  priestess  of  doom.  Kot  a  voice 
darod  to  break  the  dreadful  silence  until  KichmonJ  Wil- 
dair,  with  a  face  from  which   every'  "^^race  of   color  had 


^;- 


Gojing. 


Ml 


faded,  and  with  a  terrible  light  in  his  eyes,  strode  oyer 
and  caught  Georgia  by  the  arm. 

"  Woman  I  fiend  !  what  have  you  done  ?"  he  said, 
hoarsely. 

She  looked  up,  wrenched  her  arm  free  from  his  grasp, 
sprang  back  and  dauntlessly  confronted  him. 

"  Given  her  the  reward  for  which  she  so  long  h&j  been 
laboring,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  awful  from  its  very  depth  of 
oftlm. 

His  grasp  tightened  on  her  arm,  tightened  till  a  black 
circle  discolored  the  delicate  skin  ;  his  eyes  were  fixed  on 
hers  with  a  fearful  look  ;  but,  with  the  tempest  sweeping 
through  her  soul,  she  felt  not  his  grasp,  she  heeded  not  biv 
look. 

**  Yes,"  she  said,  folding  her  arms  and  looking  down 
steadily  on  the  jenseless  figure,  "  I  have  taught  her  what 
it  is  to  drive  me  to  desperation.  A  worm  will  turn  when 
it  is  crushed,  and  I — oh  !  what  I  have  endured  in  silence  1 
And  now  let  all  beware  !"  she  said,  raising  her  voice  almost 
to  a  shriek,  "  for  if  I  must  go  down,  I  shall  drag  down 
with  me  all  who  have  acted  a  part  in  my  misery.  Stand 
back,  Richmond  Wildair  I  for  I  shall  be  your  slave  no 
longer  I" 

No  one  there  but  actually  quailed  before  tne  dark  pas- 
sionate glance  bent  npon  them,  save  Richmond.  Some 
Roman  father  about  to  sacrifice  his  dearest  child  on  the 
altar  of  duty,  might  have  looked  as  terribly  stem,  as  omin- 
ously rigid  and  calm,  as  he  did  then. 

Without  a  word,  he  strode  over  and  grasped  both  her 
wrists  in  his  vise-like  hold,  and  looked  full  and  steadily  ia 
her  wild,  flashing  eyes. 

"  Georgia,"  he  said,  "  come  with  me," 


M 


i  I 


CONE 


She  strove  again  to  wrench  herself  free,  but  this  time 
■he  could  not ;  he  held  her  fast,  and  met  her  flashing  defi- 
ant gaze  with  one  of  steady,  immovable  calm. 

**  You  had  better  come.  I  do  not  wish  to  use  force.  If 
you  do  not  come  quietly  you  will  be  sorry  for  it." 

His  glance,  far  more  than  his  words  or  voice,  was  con- 
quering her.  He  felt  the  rigid  muscles  relax,  and  the  fierce 
glance  dying  out  before  his  own,  and  a  convulsive  shiver 
pass  through  her  slight  frame. 

"  Come^  Georgia,"  drawing  her  toward  the  parlor ; 
"  dangerous  maniacs  should  not  be  allowed  to  go  at  large. 
You  will  remain  here  until  I  come  to  you." 

He  opened  the  door,  let  her  in,  then  came  out,  turned 
the  key  in  the  lock,  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

All  this  had  passed  nearly  in  a  moment.  The  others, 
spellbound,  had  stood  rooted  to  the  ground,  their  eyes 
fixed  on  Georgia  and  Richmond,  almost  forgetting  the  very 
presence  of  Freddy. 

Now  he  went  over  and  raised  her  from  the  floor.  Her 
arms  hung  lifeless  by  her  side,  her  head  fell  over  his  arm, 
and  a  dark  stream  of  blood  flowed  from  2,  frightful  wound 
in  her  forehead  and  trickled  over  her  ghastly  face, 

A  universal  shriek  from  the  ladies  followed  the  sight, 
ftnd  some,  overcome  by  seeing  blood,  swooned  on  the  spot. 
Unheeding  them  all,  Richmond  made  his  way  through  the 
horrified  group,  entered  the  drawing-room,  laid  his  burden 
on  one  of  the  sofas,  and  seizing  the  bell- rope  rang  a  peal 
that  brought  half  a  dozen  servants  rushing  in  at  once. 

"  Here,  one  of  you  bring  me  some  water  and  a  sponge, 
instantly  ;  and  you,  Edwards,  be  off  for  Dr.  Fairleigh. 
Run  !  fly  .  lose  not  a  moment." 

The  man  darted  off.    Richmond,  wetting  the  sponge, 


OONB. 


began  oarefnlly  to  wipe  away  the  blood  and  bathe  her 
temples,  while  the  others  gathered  around,  not  daring  to 
bre&.k  the  deep  silenoe  by  a  single  word.  There  was  some- 
thing startling  in  Richmond  Wildair's  face — something  no 
one  had  ever  seen  there  before,  underlying  all  its  outward 
ominous  calm — something  in  its  still,  dark  sternness  that 
overawed  all. 

In  ten  minutes  the  doctor  arrived  and  proceeded  to 
examine  the  wound,  while  all  present  held  their  very  breath 
in  expectation.  Richmond  stood  with  his  arms  folded  over 
his  chest  during  those  moments  of  suspense,  motionless  as  m 
figure  of  gT^-^iile  ;  but  the  kuotted  veins  standing  out  dark 
and  swollen  on  his  brow,  his  labored  breathing,  and  the 
convulsive  clenching  of  his  hands,  bespoke  the  agony  of 
suspense  he  was  undergoing. 

*'  Well,  doctor,"  he  said,  huskily,  when  the  physician 
arose,  "  will — will  she  die  /" 

"  Die  I  pooh  I  No,  of  course  she  won't !  What  would 
she  die  for  ?"  said  the  doctor,  a  jolly  little  individual,  re- 
joicing in  a  very  bald  head  and  a  pair  of  bandy  legs  ;  "  it's 
nothing  but  a  scratch,  man  alive !  nothing  more.  We'll 
clap  a  piece  of  sticking-plaster  on  and  have  her  all  alive 
like  a  bag  of  grasshoppers  in  no  time.  Die,  indeed  !  I 
think  I  see  her  at  it." 

And  so  saying,  the  little  man  drew  the  edges  of  the 
wound  together,  applied  sundry  pieces  of  court-plaster,  and 
then  pronounced  the  job  finished. 

*<  And  now  to  bring  her  to,"  said  the  little  doctor,  pro- 
ceeding to  give  the  palms  of  her  hands  an  energetic  slap- 
ping ;  "  and  meantime,  my  dear  sir,  how  in  the  world  did 
she  manage  to  smash  herself  np  in  this  fashion  P" 

Richmond  did  not  reply     The  sudden  reaction  tram 


964 


OONE. 


i 

In  1 1 


torturing  fears  to  perfect  safety  was  too  mncb  ev«ii  fof 
him,  and  he  stood  at  the  window,  his  forehead  bowed  oa 
his  hand,  his  hard,  stifled  breathing  distinctly  audible  in 
the  silent  room. 

*^  Hey  !"  said  the  little  doctor,  looking  up  in  surprise 
at  his  emotion.  "  Lord  bless  my  soul  1  You  didn't  sup- 
pose she  was  going  to  die,  really,  did  you  !  Well !  well, 
well,  well  1  the  ignorance  of  people  is  wonderful  I  How 
did  it  happen,  good  folks  ?"  said  the  doctor,  making  no  at* 
tempt  to  hide  his  curiosity. 

<'  An  accident,  sir,"  said  Colonel  Gleason,  stiffly. 

"  Hum  I  ha  I  an  accident  I"  said  the  doctor,  musingly  ; 
"  well,  accidents  will  happen  in  the  best  of  families,  they 
say.  Don't  be  alarmed,  Squire  Wildair  ;  the  young  woman 
will  be  around  as  lively  as  a  cricket  in  a  day  or  two.  Here, 
she's  coming  to  already." 

While  he  spoke  there  was  a  convulsive  twitching  around 
Freddy's  mouth,  a  fluttering  of  the  pulse,  and  the  next 
moment  she  opened  her  eyes  and  gazed  vaguely  around. 

"  Here  you  are,  all  alive  and  kicking,  marm,"  said  the 
little  country  Galen  ;  '<  no  harm  done,  you  know.  Hand  ui 
%  glass  of  water,  somebody." 

The  water  effectually  restored  Freddy,  who  was  able  to 
tit  up  and  gaze  about  her  with  a  bewildered  air. 

"  My  dearest  Freddy,  how  do  you  feel  ?  My  darling 
girl,  are  you  better  ?"  said  Mrs.  Wildair,  folding  her  in  her 
arms. 

<<  Of  course  she's  better,  marm,"  said  the  doctor,  rub- 
bing his  hands  gleefully  ;  ''  right  as  ever  so  many  triveta. 
There's  a  picture  for  you,"  he  added,  appealing  to  the 
company  generally  ;  "  family  affection's  a  splendid  thing, 
and  shouli  be  encouraged  at  any  price.    Let  her  keep  on  a 


GONB. 


low  diet,  and  shell  be  as  well,  if  net  considerably  better 
than  ever,  in  two  or  three  days.  Might  have  been  killed 
dead  as  a  herring,  though,  if  she  had  struck  her  temple, 
instead  of  up  there." 

"  What's  your  fee,  doctor  ?"  said  Mr.  Wildair,  in  a  cold, 
stern  tone,  and  a  face  to  match,  as  he  abruptly  crossed 
over  to  where  he  stood. 

"  Dollar,"  said  the  doctor,  rubbing  his  hands  with  a 
joyous  little  chuckle — "  court-plaster — visit — advice  " — 

"There  it  is — good-evening,  sir.  Edward,  show  Dr. 
Fairleigh  to  the  door,"  said  Mr.  Wildair,  frigidly. 

"  Good-evening,  ^ooe^-eyening,"  said  the  bustling  lit  lie 
man,  hurrying  out.  "  Always  send  forme  whenever  any  ol 
you  think  proper  to  knock  your  heads  against  a«.^  thing. 
GooD-evening,"  repeated  the  doctor,  as  he  vanished,  with 
an  emphasis  so  great  as  to  pronounce  the  word  not  only  ia 
italics,  but  even  in  small  capitals. 

Richmond  went  over  and  took  Freddy's  hand. 

''  My  dearest  cousin,  how  do  you  feel  T*  he  said. 

**  Oh,  dreadfully  ill,"  she  said  faintly  ;  "  my  head  doer 
ache  so." 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better  go  to  your  room  and  lie 
down,"  said  Richmond,  his  lips  quivering  slightly.  "Motk- 
er,  you  will  go  with  her," 

I      "  Certainly,  my  dear  boy.     Come,  Freddy,  let  me  assist 
yon  up  stairs." 

Putting  her  arm  round  Miss  Richmond's  waist,  Mn. 
Wildair  led  her  from  the  room.  And  then  every  one 
present  took  a  deep  breath,  and  looked  first  at  one  another 
and  then  at  their  host,  with  a  glance  that  said,  <<  What 
oomes  next?" 

But  if  they  expected  an  apology  from  Mr.  Wildair  they 


9oa 


QONZ. 


I 


were  disappointed  :  for,  turning  round,  h^  said,  as  oalmlj  m 
if  nctthing  had  oocured : 

"  I  believe  we  were  to  enact  some  pantomimes  this  even* 
ing — eh,  Curtis  !  It  is  near  time  we  were  beginning,  is  it 
BOt,  ladies  ?" 

So  completely  "  taken  aback  "  were  they  by  this  cool  way 
of  doing  business  that  a  dead  pause  ensued,  and  amazed 
glances  were  again  exchanged.  Any  one  else  but  Rich- 
mond Wildair  would  have  been  embarrassed  ;  but  he  stood 
calm  and  self-possessed,  waiting  for  their  answer. 

^*  Really,"  said  Mrs.  Gleason,  drawing  herself  up  till  hei 
corset-laces  snapped,  "  after  the  unaccountable  scene  that 
— ahem — ^has  just  occurred,  you  will  have  to  excuse  me  if  I 
decline  joining  in  any  amusements  whatever  this  even- 
ing. My  nerves  have  been  cotupletely  unstrung.  I  never 
received  such  a  shock  in  my  life,  and  I  must  say *' 

She  paused  in  some  confusion  under  the  clear,  piercing 
gaze  of  Richmond's  dark  eagle  eye. 

"  Well,  madam  ?"  he  said,  with  unruffled  courtesy. 

"In  a  word,  Mr.  Wildair,"  said  the  lady,  stiffly,  "I 
mast  say  that  I  do  not  consider  it  safe  to  stay  longer  in  the 
lame  house  with  a  dangerous  lunatic,  for  such  I  consider 
your  wife  must  be,  Tou  will  therefore  excuse  me  if  I  take 
my  departure  for  the  city  to-morrow." 

In  grave  silence,  Richmond  bowed ;  and  the  offended 
lady,  in  magnificent  displeasure,  swept  from  the  room. 

"  And,  Mr.  Wildair,"  said  Miss  Reid,  languidly,  "  I  too 
feel  it  absolutely  necessary  to  return ;  violence  is  so  un- 
pleasant to  witness  Gk)od-night."  And  the  young  lady 
floated  away. 

Once  again  Richmond  bowed,  apparently  unmoved,  but 


GONE. 


267 


(he  slight  twitching  of  the  mnscleg  of  his  mouth  showed 
how  keenly  he  felt  this. 

"  Aw,  apo&  honnaw,  Wildaih,"  lisped  Mr.  Lester,  hastily, 
''though  I  regwet  it — aw— exceedingly,  you  know — I 
«ireally  must  go  bAck  to  New  Tork  to-morrow,  too.  Busi- 
ness, my  deah  feho,v,  comes — aw — befoah  pleasure,  and 
letters  I " 

"  I  understand ;  p^*y,  do  not  feel  it  necessary  to  apolo- 
gize," said  Mr.  Wildair,  with  a  slight  sneer ;  **  allow  me  to 
6id  you  good  night,  Mr.  1  ester,  and  a  pleasant  journey  to 
New  York  to-morrow." 

Poor  Mr.  Lester !  There  was  no  use  in  trying  to  brave 
it  out  under  the  light  of  those  dark,  scornful  eyes,  and  he 
sneaked  from  the  room  with  much  the  same  feeling  as  if  he 
bad  been  kicked  out. 

There  was  another  profound  pause  when  he  was  gone. 
Vot  an  eye  there  was  ready  to  meet  the  falcon  gaze  of  their 
host.  Mr.  Wildair  stepped  back  a  pace,  folded  his  arms 
aver  his  chest,  and  looked  steadily  at  thenu 

"Well,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  said  calmly, '* who 
aextr 

**  Wildair,  my  dear  old  fellow.'^  said  Dick  Curtis,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes,  "  I — I  feel — I  feel — Pll  be  hanged  if  I 
knew  haw  I  feel.  It's  too  bad — it's  too  darned  bad  for  them 
to  t]  eat  you  this  way,  after  all  you've  tried  to  do  for  them. 
It's  abominable,  it's  inferncU,  it's  a  shame  !  I  beg  your 
pardon,  laiies,  for  swearing,  but  its  enough  to  make  a  saint 
swear — I'll  be  shot  if  it's  not !"  said  Mr.  Curtis,  looking 
round  with  a  sort  of  howl  of  mingled  rage  and  grief,  and 
then  seizing  Richmond's  hand  and  shaking  it  as  if  H  had 
been  a  pump-handle. 

**  And  I,  too,  Curtis,"  said  the  honest  voice  of  Captain 


2iS 


QONB, 


I  i 


hi! 


I   i 


Arlingf ord,  **  am  with  you  there.  Mr.  Wildair,  jaa  mait 
not  set  us  all  down  for  Mr.  Lesters.  ' 

"  The  mean  little  ass  I — ought  to  be  kicked  from  here  to 
sundown  !"  said  Lieutenant  Gleason,  in  a  tone  of  disgust. 

"  And  so  ought  mother, '^  said  Henry,  sticking  his  hands 
in  his  pockets  and  striding  up  and  down  in  indignation  • 
"  and  the  nasty  Lydia  Languish  Dieaway  Reid,  a  he>scented, 
be-frizzled,  be  flounced  stuck-up  p  ece  of  dry-goods.  I 
wish  to  gracious  the  whole  of  them  were  kicked  to  death 
by  hornbugs,"  said  Henry,  thrusting  his  hands  to  the  very 
bottom  of  his  pockets  and  glaring  defiance  round  the  room. 

A  low  murmur  of  earnest  sympathy  came  from  all  pres* 
ent,  Miss  Harper  included  ;  for  as  Captain  Arlingford  had 
joined  the  opposition  party,  like  certain  politicians  of  the 
present  day,  she  found  it  no  way  difficult  to  change  her 
tactics  and  go  over  to  the  enemy. 

"  My  friends,  I  thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Wildair,  in  ^ 
suppressed  voice,  as  he  abruptly  turned  and  walked  to 
the  window  ;  but — you  must  excuse  me,  and  allow  me 
to  leave  you  for  the  present.  I  feel — "  he  broke  o£f 
abruptly,  wheeled  round,  and  with  a  brief  "  good  night,'' 
was  gone. 

He  passed  np  stairs  and  sank  into  a  chair.  His  brain 
seemed  on  fire,  the  room  for  a  moment  seemed  whirling 
round,  and  thought  was  impossible.  The  shame,  the  dis- 
grace, the  mockery,  the  laughter,  the  scenes  in  Richmond 
House  must  cause  among  his  city  friends,  alone,  stood 
vividly  before  him.  He  fancied  he  could  hear  their  jeering 
laughs  and  mocking  sneers  whenever  he  appeared,  and,  halt 
maddened,  he  rose  and  began  to  pace  up  and  down  like  a 
maniac.  And  then  came  the  thought  of  her  who  had  caused 
all  this— of  her  who  had  nearly  slain  his  ooTisin,  and  the 


OONB. 


8M 


pallid  hue  of  rage  his  face  wore  gave  p.aoe  to  a  glow  of 
indignation. 

He  had  seen  Georgia  leave  the  room  that  evening,  and 
Freddy  with  her  sweet  smile  rise  to  follow  her,  and  his 
thought  had  been,  "  Dear,  kind  little  Freddy  I  what  a  gen- 
erous, forgiving  heart  she  must  have  to  be  so  solicitous  for 
Georgia's  happiness,  in  spite  of  all  she  has  done  to  her/' 
And  when  he  saw  her  lying  wounded  and  bleeding,  with 
his  infuriated  wife  standing  over  her,  he  fancied  she  had 
merely  spoken  some  soothing  words,  and  that  the  demon 
within  Georgia's  fiery  heart  had  prompted  to  return  the 
kindness  thus. 

It  is  strange  how  blind  the  most  wise  of  this  world  are 
when  wisdom  is  entirely  of  this  earth.  Kichmond  Wildair, 
with  his  clear  head  and  profound  intellect,  was  completely 
deceived  by  his  fawning,  silk,  silvery -voiced  little  cousin. 
In  bis  eyes  Georgia  alone  was  at  fault.  Freddy  wau  im- 
maculate. She  it  was  who  had  brought  him  to  this — «Ae, 
whom  he  had  raised  from  her  inferior  position  to  be  his 
wife — she,  who,  instead  of  being  greatful,  had  commenced 
to  play  the  termagant,  as  he  called  it,  ere  the  honeymoon 
was  over.  And  worse  than  that,  she  had  proved  herself 
that  most  despicable  of  human  beings — a  married  flirt. 
Had  she  and  Captain  Arlingford  not  been  together  the 
whole  day  ? — a  sure  proof  that  she  had  nevrer  cared  umoh 
fo:  him.  Had  she  married  him  for  his  wealth  and  social 
position  ?  Was  it  possible  Georgia  had  done  this  ?  His 
brain  for  an  instant  reeled  at  the  thought,  and  then  he 
grew  strangely  calm.  She  was  proud,  ambitious,  aspiring, 
fond  of  wealth  and  power,  and  thU  was  the  only  means  she 
had  of  securing  them.  Yes,  it  must  be  bo.  And  as  the 
oonviction  came  across  his  mind,  a  deep,  bitter,  tcomfa* 


MO 


eoyx. 


anger  filled  his  heart  and  sonl,  ati  drove  »nt  every  other 
feeling.  With  an  impnlsive  bound  he  sprang  up,  and  with 
a  ringing  step  he  passed  down  stairs  and  entered  the  parlor 
where  he  had  left  her. 

And  she — poor,  stormy,  passionate  Georgia !  what  had 
been  her  feelings  all  this  time  ?  At  first,  in  the  tamiiltaoai 
tempest  sweeping  through  her  soul,  a  deep,  swelling  rage 
against  all  who  were  goading  her  on  to  desperation,  alone 
filled  her  thoughts.  She  had  paced  up  and  down  wildly, 
madly,  until  this  passed  away,  and  then  came  another  and 
more  terrible  feeling — what  if  she  had  killed  Freddy  ?  As 
if  she  had  been  stunned  by  a  blow,  she  tottered  to  a  seat, 
while  a  thousand  voices  seemed  shrieking  in  her  ears, 
"  Murderess !  murderess  I" 

Oh!  the  horror,  the  agony,  the  remorse  that  were  hen  at 
that  moment.  She  put  her  hands  to  her  ears  to  shut  out 
the  dreadful  sound  of  those  phantom  voices,  and  crouch- 
ing down  in  a  strange,  distorted  position,  she  struggled 
alone  with  all  her  agonizing  remorse.  How  willingly 
in  that  moment  would  she  have  given  her  own  life — a 
thousand  lives,  had  she  possessed  them — to  have  recalled 
her  arch  enemy  back  to  life  once  more.  So  she  lay  for 
hours,  feeling  as  though  her  very  reason  was  tottering  on 
its  throne,  and  so  Richmond  found  her  when  he  opened  the 
door.  She  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  w^ld  bound,  and  fly* 
ing  over,  she  caught  his  hand  and  almost  shrieked  : 

"  Oh  Richmond  I  is  she  dead  ?  Oh,  Richmond  !  in  the 
name  of  mercy,  speak  and  tell  me,  is  she  dead  ?" 

She  might  have  "[quailed  before  the  look  of  unTttterable 
soom  bent  on  her,  but  she  did  not.  He  shook  her  hand  off 
as  if  it  had  been  a  viper,  and  folding  his  arms,  looked 
steadily  "  ad  silently  down  upon  her. 


QONB. 


m 


''RiohmoDd  !  Richmond  I  speak  and  tell  iLe.  Oh,  I  shall 
go  mad !"  she  cried,  in  frenzied  tones. 

She  looked  as  though  she  were  going  mad  indeed,  with 
her  streaming  hair,  her  pallid  face,  and  wildly  blazing  eyes. 
Perhaps  he  feared  her  reason  wclb  tottering,  for  he  sternly 
replied  : 

"  Cease  this  raving,  madam ;  you  have  been  saved  from 
blooming  a  murderess  in  act,  though  you  are  one  in  the 
sight  of  heaven." 

"And  she  will  not  die?" 

«  No." 

« Oh,  thank  heaven  !"  and,  totally  overcome,  she  sank 
for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  almost  fainting  into  her  seat. 

Richmond  looked  at  her  with  deep,  scornful  eyes. 

**  You  to  thank  Heaven  ! — you  to  take  that  name  on 
your  lips  ! — you,  who  this  night  attempted  a  murder  !  Oh, 
woman  do  you  not  fear  the  vengeance  of  that  Heaven  you 
invoke !" 

"Oh,  Richmond!  spare  me  not.  I  deserve  all  yon 
would  say.  Oh  I  in  all  this  world  there  is  not  another  so 
lost,  so  fallen,  so  guilty  as  I." 

"  Tou  are  right,  there  is  not ;  for  one  who  would 
attempt  the  life  of  a  young  and  innocent  girl  must  be 
steeped  in  guilt  so  black  that  Hades  itself  must  shudder. 
Had  you  caused  the  death  of  Frederica  Richmond,  as  you 
^ed  to,  I  myself  would  have  gone  to  the  nearest  magis- 
trate, had  you  arrested,  and  forced  you  off  this  very  night 
to  the  county  jail.  I  would  have  prosecuted  you,  though 
every  one  else  in  the  world  was  for  you  ;  and  I  would  have 
gone  to  behold  you  perish  on  the  scaffold,  and  then — and 
then  only — felt  that  justice  was  satisfied." 

She  almost  shrieked,  as  she  covered  her  face  with  her 


GONX. 


hands  from  his  terrible  gaze,  bat,  unheeding  her  angaiih, 
h*  went  on  in  a  oalm,  pitiless  voice  : 

**  You,  one  night  not  long  sinoe,  told  me  you  wished 
yo»i  had  never  married  me.  That  you  really  ever  wished 
li  I  do  not  now  believe  ;  for  one  who  could  commit  a  cold- 
blooded murder  would  not  hesitate  at  a  lie — a  lie.  Do  you 
hear,  Georgia  ?  But  I  tell  you  now,  that  I  wish  I  had  been 
dead  and  in  my  grave  ere  I  ever  met  Georgia  Darrell !" 

**  Oh,  Richmond  !  Spare  me  1  spare  me  I"  the  cried,  in 
a  dying  voice. 

"  No  ;  I  am  like  yourself — I  spare  not.  Tou  have 
merited  this,  and  a  thousand  times  more  from  me,  and  you 
shall  listen  now.  That  you  married  me  for  my  wealth  and 
for  the  power  it  would  give  you,  I  know  only  too  well. 
Tou  were  an  unnatural  child,  and  I  might  have  known  you 
would  be  an  unnatural  woman  ;  but  I  willfully  blinded  my 
eyes,  and  believed  what  you  told  me  that  accursed  night 
on  the  sea-shore,  and  I  married  yon — fool  that  I  was !  I 
braved  the  scorn  of  the  world,  the  sneers  of  my  friends,  the 
just  anger  of  my  mother,  and  stooped — are  you  listening, 
Georgia  ? — and  stooped  to  wed  you.  And  now  I  have  my 
leward." 

"  Oh,  Richmond  !  I  shall  go  mad  I''  she  wailed,  writh- 
ing in  her  seat,  and  feeling  as  if  every  fiber  in  her  heart 
were  tearing  from  its  place,  so  intense  was  her  anguish. 

But  still  the  clear,  clarion-like  voice  rang  out  on  the  air 
like  a  death-bell,  cold,  calm,  and  pitiless  as  the  grave  : 

**■  Once,  in  one  of  your  storms  of  passion,  madam,  yon 
asked  me  why  I  married  you.  Now  I  answer  you  :  because 
I  was  mad,  demented,  besotted,  crazed,  or  I  most  assuredly 
should  never  have  dreamed  of  such  a  thing.  Perhaps  yoa 
wish  I  had  not,  f  :>r  vhen  the  gallant  sailor  you  admire  se 


GONX. 


Biaoh  might  bare  taken  it  into  his  hair-brained  head  to  do 
what  I  did  in  a  fit  of  insanity — for  which  a  life  of  misery 
like  this  is  to  atone — and  married  you.  That  I  have  de- 
prived you  of  this  happiness,  I  deeply  regret;  for,  madam, 
much  as  you  may  repent  this  marriage,  you  can  never,  never 
repent  it  half  as  much  as  I  do  now." 

She  had  fallen  at  his  feet,  whether  from  physical  weak* 
ness,  or  whether  she  had  writhed  there  in  her  intolerable 
agony,  he  did  not  know,  and,  at  that  moment,  did  not  care. 
He  stepped  back,  looked  down  upon  her  as  she  lay  a  mo- 
ment, and  went  on  : 

**  I  fancied  I  loved  you  well  enough  then  to  brave  the 
whole  world  for  your  sake  ;  but  that,  like  all  the  rest  of  my 
short  brain-fever,  has  completely  passed  away.  What  feel- 
ing can  one  have  for  a  murderess — for  such  in  heart  yon 
are — ^but  one  of  horror  and  loathing?" 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  moaniug  cry,  and  stood 
before  him  with  one  arm  half  raised  ;  her  lips  opened  as  if 
to  speak,  but  no  voice  cajne  forth. 

"  Hear  me  out,  madam,"  he  interposed,  waving  his  hand, 
"  for  it  is  the  last  time,  perhaps,  you  will  ever  be  troubled 
by  a  word  from  me.  You  have  driven  my  guests  from  my 
house,  you  have  eternally  disgraced  me,  and,  lest  yoj 
should  murder  the  very  servants  next,  must  not  be  allowcvd 
to  go  free.  While  a  friend  of  mine  resides  under  this  roof 
you  shall  remain  locked  a  close  prisoner  in  your  room,  as  a 
lunatic  too  dangerous  to  be  at  large.  And  if  that  does  not 
subdue  the  fiend  within  you,  one  thing  yet  remains  for  me 
to  do — that  I  may  go  free  once  more." 

He  paused,  and  the  rage  he  had  subdued  by  the  strength 
of  his  mighty  will  all  along,  showed  now  in  the  death-like 


Mi 


GONE. 


t  I' 

1  ii 


whiteness  of  his  face,  Tvhite  even  tc  kis  lips,  like  the  TK*t€ 
ashes  over  re<   bot     ..  Is. 

Again  her  «  i  .  \  r^  faintly  raised,  again  her  trembling 
lips  parted,  bat  he  po  er  of  speech  seemed  to  have  been 
suddenly  taken  from  her.     No  sound  came  forth. 

"  What  I  allude  to  will  make  me  free  as  air — free  as  I 
was  before  I  met  you — free  to  bring  another  mistress  to 
.Richmond  House  before  your  very  eyes.  Money  will 
procure  it,  and  of  that  I  have  enough.  I  allude  to  a 
divorce — do  you  know  what  that  means  ?" 

Yes,  she  knew.  Her  arms  dropped  by  her  side  as  if  she 
had  been  suddenly  strickei  with  death,  the  light  died  out 
in  her  eyes,  the  words  she  would  have  uttered  were  frozen 
on  her  lips,  and,  as  if  the  last  blow  she  could  ever  receive 
had  fallen,  she  laid  her  hand  on  her  heart  and  lifted  her 
eyes,  calm  as  his  now,  to  his  face. 

Some  author  has  said,  "  Great  shocks  kill  weak  minds, 
and  stir  strong  ones  with  a  calm  resembling  death.''  So  it 
was  now  with  Georgia  ;  she  had  been  stunned  into  calm^ 
the  calm  of  undying,  life-long  despair.  She  had  believed 
and  trusted  all  along — she  had  thought  he  loved  her  until 
now— and  novo  ! 

What  was  there  in  her  face  that  awed  even  him  ?  It 
was  not  anger^  nor  reproach,  nor  yet  sorrow.  A  thrill  of 
nameless  terror  shot  through  his  heart,  and  with  the  last 
cruel  words  all  anger  passed  away.  He  advanced  a  step 
toward  her,  as  if  to  speak  again,  but  she  raised  her  hand, 
and  lifting  her  eyes  to  his  face  wHh  a  look  he  never  forgot, 
■he  turned  and  passed  from  the  room. 

And  Richard  Wildair  was  alone.  He  had  not  meant 
one-half  of  what  he  had  said  m  the  white  heat  of  his  paa- 
■ion,  and  the  idea  of  a  divorcQ  had  no  more  entered  hit 


QONM. 


head  tban  that  of  slaying  himself  on  the  spot  lad.  He  had 
said  it  in  his  rage,  none  the  less  deep  for  being  suppressed, 
and  now  be  would  have  given  uncounted  worlds  that  those 
fatal  words  had  never  been  uttered. 

He  went  out  to  the  hall,  but  sh^  had  gone — he  caught 
the  last  flutter  of  her  dress  as  she  oa  ed  the  head  of  the 
stairs  toward  her  own  room. 

"I  ought  not  to  have  said  t.ia  ,'*  he  said  uneasily  to 
himself  as  he  paced  up  and  doT"n.  "  I  am  sorry  for  it  now. 
To-morrow  I  will  see  her  agaii.  u  id  then — well,  *  safficieni 
nnto  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof.'  I  cannot  live  this  life 
longer.  I  will  not  stay  in  Burnfleld.  I  cannot  stay.  I 
shall  go  abroad  and  take  her  with  me.  Tes,  that  is  what  I 
will  do.  Travel  will  work  wonders  in  Georgia,  and  who 
knows  what  happiness  may  be  in  store  for  us  yet." 

He  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out.  The  white 
snow  lay  in  great  drifts  on  every  side,  looking  cold  and 
white  and  death-like  in  the  pale  Inster  of  a  wintry  moon. 
With  a  shudder  he  turned  away,  and  threw  himself  mood- 
ily on  a  couch  in  the  warm  parlor,  saying,  as  if  to  reassure 
himself  : 

"  Yes,  to-morrow  I  will  see  her,  and  all  shall  be  well-— 
to-morrow — to-morrow." 

There  was  a  paper  lying  on  the  table,  and  he  took  it  ap 
and  looked  lightly  over  it.  The  first  thing  that  struck  hii 
eyes  was  a  poem,  headed  : 

"  Tomorrow  never  comes ." 

Richmond  Wildair  would  have  been  ashamed  to  tell  it, 

but  he  actually  started  and   turned  pale  with  superstitious 

terror.     It  seemed  so  like  an  answer  to  his  thoughts  that 

startled  him  more  than  anything  of  the  kind  had  ever  done 

"tfore, 

U 


M6 


OONE 


1l 


To  him  that  night  passed  in  feyerisb  dreams.  How 
passed  it  with  another  beneath  that  roof  ? 

At  early  morning  he  was  awake.  An  unaccountable 
presentment  of  an  impending  calamity  was  upon  him  and 
would  not  be  shaken  oflf. 

Scarcely  knowing  what  he  did,  he  went  up  to  Georgia's 
room,  and  softly  turned  the  handle  of  the  door.  He  had 
expected  to  find  it  locked,  but  it  was  not  so  ;  it  opened  at 
his  touch,  and  he  went  in. 

Why  does  he  start  and  clutch  it  as  if  about  to  fall  ? 
The  room  is  empty,  and  the  bed  has  not  been  slept  in  all 
night, 

A  note,  addressed  to  him,  lies  on  the  table.  Dizzily  ha 
opens  it,  and  reads  : 

**  Mt  deabbst  husband  :  Let  me  call  yon  so  for  this 
once,  this  last  time — you  are  free  !  On  this  earth  I  will 
never  disgrace  yon  again.  May  heaven  bless  you  and  fcr- 
give. 

"  Gboboia." 

She  was  gone — gone  forever  !  Clutching  the  note  in 
his  hand,  he  staggered,  rather  than  walked,  down  stairs, 
opened  the  door,  and,  in  a  cold  gray  of  coming  dawn, 
passed  out. 

All  around  the  stainless  snow-drifts  seemed  mocking 
him  with  their  white  blank  faces,  lying  piled  as  they  had 
been  last  night  when  he  had  driven  his  young  wife  from 
his  side.  Cold  and  white  they  were  here  still,  and  Geor* 
gia  was — where? 


||-, 


THE   DAWN    OF   ANOTHER    DAf, 


M7 


CHAPTER  XVin. 


THX  HAWm  OF  ANOTHBB  DAT. 


*  Then  she  took  up  her  burden  of  life  ftgaii, 
Baying  only  '  It  might  have  been.* 
Ood  pity  them  both,  and  pity  us  all, 
Who  vainly  the  dreams  of  youth  recall; 
For  of  all  sad  words  of  tongue  or  pen, 
The  saddest  are  these,  *It  might  have  been/  ** 

Whittibb. 

|N  the  dead  of  night — of  that  last,  sorrowfnl 
night — a  slight,  dark  figure  had  flitted  from  one 
of  the  many  doors  of  Richmond  House,  fluttered 
away  in  the  chill  night  round  through  the 
sleeping  town.  A  visitor  came  to  Miss  Jerusha's  sea-side 
cottage  that  night,  with  a  face  so  white  and  cold  that  the 
snow-wreaths  dimmed  beside  it ;  the  white  face  lay  on  the 
cold  threshold,  the  dark  figure  was  prostrate  in  the  snow- 
drift before  the  door,  and  there  the  last  farewell  was  taken 
while  Miss  Jerusha  lay  sleeping  within.  And  then  the 
dusky  form  was  whirling  away  and  away  again  like  a  leaf 
on  a  blast,  another  stray  waif  on  the  great  stream  of  life. 

Six  pealed  from  the  town  clock  of  Bumfield,  The  loco- 
motive shrieked,  the  bell  rang,  and  the  fiery  morster  wai 
rushing  along  with  its  living  freight  to  the  great  city  of 
New  York. 

In  the  dusky  gloom  of  that  cold,  cheerlesv  wmter  mom- 
iDg  the  tall,  dark  form,  all  dressed  in  black  an£  closely 
v;«iled  had  glided  in  like  a  spirit  and  taken  her  seat. 
Muffled  in  caps,  and  cloaks,  and  comforters,  every  one  had 


tj 


^1 


I 


TSR   DAWN    OF  ANOTHER   DAT. 


I)  f^ 


eooQgh  to  do  to  mind  themselves  and  keep  from  frMiing, 
and  no  one  heeded  the  still  form  that  leaned  back  among 
the  cushions,  giving  as  little  sign  of  life  as  though  it  were 
a  ttatne  in  ebony. 

The  sun  was  high  in  the  sky  and  Georgia  was  in  New 
York.  She  knew  where  to  go  ;  in  her  former  visit  she  had 
ohanced  to  relieve  the  wants  of  a  poor  widow  living  in  an 
obscure  tenement-house  somewhere  near  the  East  River, 
and  here,  despairing  of  finding  her  way  through  the 
labyrinth  of  streets  alone,  she  gave  the  cabman  directions 
to  drive.  Strangely  calm  she  was  now,  but  oh,  the  settled 
night  of  ariguish  in  those  large,  wild,  black  eyes  ! 

The  poor  are  mostly  grateful,  and  warm  and  heartfelt 
was  Georgia's  welcome  to  that  humble  roof.  Questions 
were  asked,  but  none  answered  ;  all  Georgia  said  she  wanted 
was  a  private  room  there  for  two  or  three  days. 

Alone  at  last,  she  sat  down  to  think.  There  was  no  time 
to  brood  over  the  past — ^her  life-work  was  to  be  accom- 
plished now.  What  next?  was  the  question  that  arose 
before  her,  the  question  that  must  be  promptly  answered. 
How  was  she  to  live  in  this  wilderness  of  human  beings  ? 

She  leaned  her  head  on  her  hands,  forcibly  wrenched  her 
thoughts  from  the  past  and  fixed  them  on  the  present. 
How  was  she  to  earn  a  livelihood?  The  plain,  practical, 
homely  question  ronsed  all  her  sleeping  energies,  and  did 
her  good. 

The  stage  !  She  thought  of  that  lirst  with  an  electno 
bound  of  the  pulse ;  she  knew,  she  was  certain  bhe  could 
win  a  name  and  fame  there  ;  but  could  she,  who  had  be- 
come the  wife  of  Richmond  Wildair,  become  an  actress? 
She  knew  his  fastidious  pride  on  this  point ;  she  knew  the 


TBE   DAWN   OF   ANOTHER    DAT, 


fact  of  her  having  been  an  aotreM  in  her  childho<Ml  had 
never  ceased  to  gall  him  more  than  anything  else. 

Georgia  Darrell  would  have  stepped  on  the  boards  and 
won  the  highest  laurels  the  profession  oould  bestow,  but 
Georgia  Wildair  had  another  to  think  of  beside  herself. 
Much  as  she  longed  for  that  exciting  life — that  life  for 
which  nature  had  so  well  qualified  her,  physically  and  men- 
tally, for  which  she  had  so  strong  a  desire — she  put  the 
thought  aside  and  gave  it  up. 

Though  she  had  wrenched  asunder  the  chains  that 
bound  her  to  him,  she  still  carried  a  clanking  fragment  with 
her,  and,  no  longer  a  free  agent,  she  must  think  of  some- 
thing else.  Another  reason  there  was  why  that  profession 
oould  not  be  hers — she  did  not  wish  to  be  known  or  discov- 
ered by  any  she  had  ever  known  before  ;  her  desire  was  to 
be  as  dead  to  Richmond  Wildair  as  if  she  had  never  existed 
— to  leave  him  free,  unfettered  as  he  had  been  before  this 
fatal  marriage.  And,  to  make  the  more  sure  of  this,  she 
had  resolved  to  drop  his  nome  and  assume  another.  She 
would  take  her  mother's  name  of  Randall ;  it  was  her  own 
name,  too— Georgia  Randall  Darrell. 

But  what  was  she  to  do  ?  Females  baiore  now  had  won 
fame  as  artists,  and  Georgia  had  genius  and  an  artist'i 
lonl.  But  she  would  have  to  writ'  and  live  o»  this  poor 
widow's  bounty  meantime,  and  ihut  waa  too  r^bhorrent  to 
her  nature  to  be  for  a  moment  thought  of.  Nothing 
remained  but  to  become  a  teacher  or  governess,  and  even 
in  this  she  was  doubtful  if  she  could  succeed.  She  knew 
little  or  nothing  of  music,  and  that  seemed  absol  ttely 
essential  in  a  governess,  but  still  she  would  try.  If  thai 
failed,  something  else  must  be  tried. 


970 


TEE   DAWN    OF    ANOTHER    DAT 


i 


Drawing  pen  and  ink  toward  her,  she  sat  down  And  in* 
dited  the  following : 

TTT ANTED — A  situation  as  governess  in  a  respectable 
private  family,  by  one  capable  of  teaching  French, 
German,  and  Latin,  and  all  the  branches  of  English  eda« 
cation.    Address  G.  R.,  etc. 

Next  morning,  among  hundreds  of  other  *'  wants,"  this 
appeared  in  the  Herald,  and  nothing  now  remained  for 
Georgia  but  to  wait.  The  excitement  of  her  flight,  the 
necessity  of  immediate  action,  and  now  the  fever  of  sus- 
pense,  kept  her  mind  from  dwelling  too  much  on  the  past. 
Had  It  been  otherwise,  with  iier  impassioned  nature,  she 
might  have  sunk  into  an  agony  of  despair,  or  raved  in  the 
delirium  of  brain-fever.  As  it  was,  she  remained  stunned 
into  a  sort  of  calm — white,  cold,  passionless ;  but,  oh  I  with 
sucb  a  settled  night  of  utter  eorrow  in  the  great  melan- 
choly dark  eyes. 

Fortunately  for  her,  she  was  not  doomed  to  remain  long 
in  suspense.  On  the  third  day  a  note  was  brought  to  her 
in  a  gertleman's  hand,  and  tearing  it  eagerly  open,  sh« 
read : 

«  AsTOB  UousB,  Jan.  12, 18 — . 

*'  Mad.\m  :  Seeing  your  advertisement  in  the  JSisrald, 
and  being  in  want  of  a  governeta^,  if  not  ulready  engaged, 
you  would  do  well  to  favor  me  with  a  call  at  your  earliest 
leisure.    I  will  leave  the  city  in  two  days.     Yours, 

"  John  Lbokaxd." 

Afi  she  finished  reading  this,  Georgia  started  to  her  feet, 
hastily  donned  her  hat  and  cloak,  with  her  thick  vail  closely 


TBB   DAWN    OF   ANOTHER    DAT, 


971 


0^'er  her  face,  and  taking  one  of  the  widow's  little  bojl 
with  her,  as  gaide,  set  oat  for  the  hotel. 

Upon  reaching  it  she  inquired  for  Mr.  Leonard.  A 
servant  went  for  him,  and  in  a  few  minutes  returned  with 
a  benevolent-looking  old  gentleman,  with  white  hair  and  a 
kind,  friendly  face. 

'*  Tou  wished  to  see  me.  madam,"  he  said,  bowing,  and 
looking  inquiringly  at  the  Juno-like  form  dressed  in  black. 

''Yes,  sir ;  I  am  the  governess,"  said  Georgia,  her  heart 
throbbing  so  violently  that  she  turned  giddy. 

*'  Oh,  indeed  !"  said  the  old  gentleman,  kindly  ;  *'  per- 
haps wo  had  better  step  up  to  my  room,  then  ;  this  is  no 
place  to  settle  businees." 

Qeorgia  followed  him  up  two  or  three  flights  of  stain, 
to  aa  elegantly  furnished  apartment.  Handing  her  a  chair, 
ho  seated  himself,  and  glanced  somewhat  curiously  at  her. 

''Toa  received  my  answer  to  our  advertisement?"  he 
said. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Georgia,  in  a  stifled  voice. 

« May  I  ask  yonr  name  madam  ?''  said  Mr.  Leonard, 
whose  curiosity  seemed  piqued. 

Georgia  threw  back  her  heavy  vail,  and  the  old  gentle- 
man gave  a  start  of  surprise  at  sight  of  the  vhite,  cold, 
beautiful  face,  and  dark,  sorrowful  eyes. 

"  My  name  is  Randall — Miss  Randall,"  replied  G'^orgia, 
while  a  faint  red,  that  faded  as  quickly  as  it  came,  tinged 
her  cheek  at  the  deception. 

Mr.  Leonard  bowed. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  credentials — your  certificates  from 
those  with  whom  you  have  formerly  lived  V"  said  Mr, 
Leonard,  hesitatingly,  for  he  felt  embarrassed  to  addretf 
this  queenly  looking  girl,  on  whose  marble-like  face  tie 


878 


THE   DAWN    OF  ANOTHER    DAY, 


I 


awe-inspiring  shadow  of  some  mighty  grief  2ay,  as  he  would 
a  common  governess. 

Georgia's  eyes  dropped,  and  again  that  slight  tinge  of 
color  flashed  across  her  face,  and  again  faded  away. 

"  No,  sir ;  I  have  not.  I  never  was  a  governess  before ; 
■ndden  reverses — adversity — " 

She  broke  down,  put  her  trembling  hand  before  her 
face,  and  averted  her  head. 

Mr.  Leonard  was  an  impulsive,  kind-hearted  old  gentle- 
man, and  the  sight  of  settled  anguish  in  that  pale  young 
face  went  right  home  to  his  heart,  and  touched  him  exceed- 
ingly. 

**  Yes,  yes,  to  be  sure,  poor  child  1  I  understand  it  all. 
There,  don't  cry — don't,  now.  You  know  there  it  nothing 
but  ups  and  downs  in  this  world,  and  reverses  must  be  ex- 
pected. I  like  you,  I  like  your  looks,  and  I  rather  guess 
I'll  engage  you  without  credentials.  There,  don't  be  cast 
down,  my  dear  ;  don't,  now.  Yon  really  make  me  feel  bad 
to  see  you  in  trouble." 

Georgia  lifted  her  head  and  tried  to  smile,  but  it  was 
■o  faint  and  sad,  so  like  a  cold  gleam  of  moonlight  on  snow, 
that  it  touched  that  soft  heart  of  his  more  and  more. 

"  Poor  thing !  poor  thing !  poor  little  thing  !"  he  said, 
winking  very  rapidly  with  both  eyes  behind  his  spectacles ; 
"  seen  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  I  expect,  in  her  time,  must 
have,  to  give  her  that  look.  I'll  engage  her  ;  upon  my  lif« 
I  will  !'^ 

<<  There  may  be  one  objection,  sir,"  said  Georgia,  sadly. 
''  I  can't  teach  music." 

"  You  can't — hum  I"  said  Mr.  Leonard,  musingly. 
''Well,  that  doesn't  make  much  odds,  I  guess.  My 
daughters  have  a  music-master  now,  and  he  can  teach  little 


THE   DAWN    OF   ANOTHBR    DAT, 


m 


Jennie,  I  reckon,  too.  Your  pupils  are  two  boys  and  a  girl, 
none  over  thirteen  ;  and  as  you  teach  French,  and  Latin, 
and  grammar,  and  English,  and  all  the  other  things  neces- 
sary, music  does  not  make  much  difference.  And  as  for 
salary — well,  1*11  attend  to  that  at  the  end  of  the  quarter, 
and  I  think  you  will  be  satisfied.     When  oan  you  come?*' 

"  Now,  if  necessary,  sir — any  time  you  like." 

"  Well,  to-morrow  morning  I  start.  I  live  forty  milei 
out  of  New  York,  and  if  you  will  give  me  your  address,  I 
will  call  for  you  in  the  carriage." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,  but  it  is  too  far  out  of  your  way.  I 
will  come  up  here,"  said  Georgia,  who  did  not  wish  to 
bring  him  to  the  meau  habitation  where  she  stopped.  "  I 
suppose  that  is  all,"  she  said,  rising. 

*'  All,  at  present,  Miss  Randall,"  said  Mr.  Leonard,  ris- 
ing, and  looking  at  her  in  surprise  as  she  started  at  the 
unusual  name.  *'  To-morrow  at  ten  o*  dock,  I  leave.  Oood- 
morming." 

He  shook  bands  cordially  with  her  at  parting,  and  then 
Georgia  hurried  out,  feeling  that  one  faint  gleam  of  sun- 
shine had  arisen  in  her  darkened  life.  In  the  desolate 
years  of  the  weary  life  before  her  she  would  at  least  be  a 
burden  to  no  one,  and  for  a  few  moments  she  felt  as  if  an 
intolerable  load  had  been  lifted  off  her  heart.  But  when 
she  was  alone  again  in  her  chamber  and  the  reaction  past, 
the  awful  sense  of  her  desolation  came  sweeping  over  her. 
In  all  the  wide  world  she  had  not  one  friend  left.  Sun, 
and  moon,  and  stars  all  had  faded  from  her  sky,  and 
night — dark,  woeful  night — had  closed,  and  a  night  for 
which  there  was  no  morning.  And,  oh,  worst  of  all,  she 
felt  it  was  her  own  fault,  her  own  stormy,  unbridled  pas- 
sions had  done  it  all  ;  and  with  a  great  cry,  wrong  from 


r| 


971 


TITS   DAWN    OF  ANOTHER   DAT. 


Ij 


I 


i 


her  tortured  heart,  she  Suuk  down  quivering  and  whit«  in 
the  dusky  gloom  of  that  wild  winter  evening.  There  was 
no  light  in  Georgia's  despair ;  in  happier  days  she  had 
never  prayed,  and  in  the  hour  of  her  earthly  anguish  she 
eould  not.  In  this  world  she  could  look  foward  to  nothing 
but  a  wretched,  despairing  life,  and  to  her  the  next  was  a 
dull,  dead  blank.  One  name  was  in  her  heart,  one  name  on 
her  lips,  one  whom  she  had  made  her  God,  her  earthly  idol, 
and  now  he,  too,  was  forever  lost. 

When  the  widow  came  in  to  awaken  her  the  next 
morning,  she  was  startled  by  the  sight  of  the  tall,  dark 
form,  wrapped  in  a  shawl,  sitting  by  the  window,  her  fore- 
head pressed  to  the  cold  pane,  her  face  whiter  than  the 
snow-wreaths  without.  She  had  not  laid  her  head  on  a 
pillow  the  livelong  night. 

The  cold,  pale  sunshine  of  the  short  January  day  was 
fading  out  of  the  sky,  when  a  sleigh,  well  supplied  with 
buffalo  robes  and  the  merry  music  of  jingling  bells,  came 
flying  up  toward  a  large,  handsome  country  villa,  through 
the  crimson  curtained  windows  of  which  the  ruddy  light  of 
many  a  glowing  coal  fire  shone.  As  it  stopped  before  the 
door,  a  group  from  within  came  running  out,  and  stood  on 
the  viranda,  in  eager  expectation  and  pleasing  bustle. 

/Vn  old  gentleman  with  white  hair  and  a  benevolent 
iri>ri3j  aaew^ring  to  tl.e  cognomen  of  Mr.  Leonard,  got  out 
&l'1  as  .inti'd  a,  lady,  tall  and  elegant,  dressed  in  black,  and 
olc  elj  vailed,  to  aiight.  Then,  giving  a  few  hasty  direc- 
tious  Lo  H  serv'.mt  who  was  leading  off  the  horses,  he  gave 
the    ii}  his  arm  and  led  her  up  to  the  house. 

And  upon  reaching  the  veranda  he  was  instantly  sur- 
rounded, and  an  incredible  amount  of  kissing,  and  quef- 
tioning,  and  laughing,  and  talking  was  done  in  an  instant, 


*  ^ 


THE   DAWN    OF   ANOTHER    DAT. 


878 


and  the  old  gentleman  was  whisked  off  and  borne  ints  % 
large,  handsomely  furnished  parlor,  where  the  brightest  of 
fires  was  blazing  in  the  bi  igbtest  of  grates,  and  pushed  into 
a  rocking-chair  and  whirled  up  before  the  fire  in  a  twink* 
ling. 

*'  Lord  bless  my  soul !"  said  the  old  gentleman,  breath- 
lessly, and  laying  a  strong  emphasis  on  the  pronoun  ;  "  what 
a  lot  of  whirlwinds  you  are,  girls  I  Where's  Miss  Randall^ 
eh  ?    Where's  Miss  Randall  ?" 

"  Here,  sir,"  answered  Georgia,  as  she  entered  th* 
room. 

"  And  pretty  near  frosen,  I'll  be  bound  I  I  know  Izx\ 
Mrs.  Leonard,  my  dear,  thia  ^oung  lady  is  the  governess- 
Miss  Randall." 

Georgia  bowed  to  a  little  f  ai  woman  with  restless,  bazef 
eyes. 

'*  And  these  are  my  two  eldt  danghtevs.  Fell' e  and 
Maggie,"  continued  Mr.  Leonard,  pointing  to  two  pretty, 
graceful-looking  young  girls,  wl  nodded  ^-arelesbly  to  the 
governess  ;  "  and  these  are  yc  pupils,"  he  added,  point- 
ing  to  two  little  boys,  appareniiy  between  thirteen  and  ten, 
and  to  a  little  girl,  who,  from  her  resemblance  to  the 
younger,  was  evidently  his  twin  sister.  "  Albert,  Royal, 
Jennie,  come  up  and  ghake  hands  with  Miss  Randall." 

**  Miss  Randall  I  why,  Licie,  ^^at's  the  name  of  that  nice 
gentleman  who  brought  you  the  roses  last  night,  ain't  it  ?" 
said  little  Jennie,  looking  up  cunningly  at  her  elder  sister. 

Misb  Felice  glanced  at  Miss  Maggie  and  smiled  and 
bluslieil,  and  began  twisting  one  of  her  ringlets  over  her 
taper  fingers,  looking  very  conscious  indeed. 

"  May  I  ask  '.f  you  are  any  relation  to  young  Mr  Ran- 
dall, the  poet,  of  New  York?"  said  Mrs.  Leoiiard,  p  ishing 


t?t 


TEX   DAWN   OF  ANOTHER   DAT. 


up  her  spectacles  and  trying  to  see  Georgia  throagh  tkt 
thick  vail  which  still  covered  her  face. 

**  Why,  mamma,  what  a  question  !  Of  coarse  she's  not," 
•aid  Miss  Felice,  rather  pettishly  ;  "  he  has  no  relatives, 
you  know.     There's  plenty  of  the  name." 

Georgia  threw  back  her  vail  at  this  moment,  and  stooped 
to  kiss  little  Jennie,  who  came  up  and  held  her  rosy  mouth 
puckered  for  that  purpose,  as  if  she  was  quite  accustomed 
to  be  treated  to  that  sort  of  small  coin. 

*'  Oh,  Felice,  what  a  beautiful  face  I''  exclaimed  Miss 
Maggie,  in  an  impulsive  whisper. 

"  Ye-es,  she's  not  bad-looking — for  a  governess," 
drawled  Mis6  Felice.  **  They  are  generally  so  frightfully 
ugly.  She's  a  great  deal  too  pale  though,  and  too  solemn 
looking  ;  it  givc^  me  the  dismals  to  look  at  her  ;  and  she's 
ever  so  much  too  tall"  (Miss  Felice,  be  it  known,  was  rather 
on  the  dumpy  pattern  than  otherwise),  **  and  too  slight 
for  her  size,  and  her  forehead's  too  high,  and  her — " 

**  Oh,  Felice,  stop  I  You'll  try  to  make  out  she's  as  ugly 
as  sin  directly.     Did  yon  ever  see  such  splendid  eyes  ?" 

"  I  don't  like  black  eyes,"  said  Miss  Felice,  in  a  dissat- 
isfied tone  ;  "  they  are  too  sharp  and  fiery.  They  do  well 
enough  for  men,  but  I  don't  approve  of  them  at  all  for 
women." 

"  Dear  me,  what  a  pity  !"  said  Miss  Maggie,  sarcastic- 
ally ;  "  but  you  can't  call  hers  fiery — they're  dreadfully 
melancholy,  I'm  sure.    Now  ain't  they,  mamma  ?" 

"  What  dear  ?"  said  Mrs.  Leonard,  not  catching  the 
whispered  question. 

*'  Hasn't  Miss  Randall  got  lovely  melancholy  black 
eyes  ?" 

<*  Ob,  bother  her  melancholy  black  eyes  !"  said  Mim 


:^i 


4v 


um'i  iiiwnwuim— I*  ■wiiMW*'*'^ 


THE   DAWN    OF  ANOIEER    DAT, 


wn 


Felice,  impatiently.  **  What  a  time  you  do  make  abtut 
people,  Mag.  And  she  only  a  governess,  too.  I  should 
think  yon  would  be  ashamed." 

**  Well,  I  ain't  ashamed — not  the  least,"  said  Maggie  ; 
**  and  no  matter  whether  she's  a  governess  or  not,  she  looks 
like  a  lady.  I'm  sure  she's  very  clever,  too.  I  wonder  who 
she's  in  black  for." 

"  Ask  her,"  said  Miss  Felice,  shortly,  as  she  picked  up  a 
French  novel,  and,  placing  her  feet  on  the  fender,  sat  down 
to  read. 

Miss  Felice  was  blessed  wi«;^  a  temper  much  shorter  than 
sweet,  and  Miss  Maggie,  who  was  rather  good-natured,  took 
her  curt  replies  as  a  matter  of  course,  and,  going  over  to 
Georgia,  said  pleasantly  : 

"  Miss  Randall,  if  you  wish  to  go  up  to  your  room,  I 
i^ill  be  your  cicerone  for  the  occasion.  Perhaps  yon  would 
like  to  brush  your  hair  before  tea." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Georgia,  rising  languidly,  and  fol- 
lowing Miss  Maggie  from  the  room. 

"  This  is  to  be  your  sanctum  aanctorum^  Miss  Randall," 
said  Maggie,  opening  the  door  of  a  small  and  plainly  but 
neatly  furnished  bedroom,  rendered  cheerful  by  red  drapery 
and  a  redder  fire.  "  It's  not  very  gorgeous,  you  perceive  ; 
but  it's  the  one  the  governess  always  uses  here.  Our  last 
one — Miss  Fitzgerald,  an  Irish  young  lady — went  and 
precipitated  herself  into  the  awful  gulf  of " 

"  What  ?"  said  Georgia,  with  a  slight  start,  caused  by 
Miss  Maggie's  awe-struck  manner. 

*<  Matrimony  I"  said  Miss  Maggie,  in  a  thrilling  whis- 
per. *'  Ain't  it  dreadful  ?  Governesses,  and  ministers,  and 
curates,  acd  all  sorts  of  poor  people  generally  will  persist 
in  such  atrocities,  on  the  principle  that  what  won't  keej^ 


v] 


Ml 


tts 


TSB   DAWN    OF   ANOTHER   DAI, 


W. 


one,  I  suppose,  will  keep  two.  Don^t  you  eyer  get  married, 
Hiss  Randall.  /  never  mean  to—  Why,  my  goodneiSi 
what's  the  matter  now  ?'' 

Qeorgia  had  given  such  a  violent  start,  and  a  spasm  of 
such  intense  anguish  had  passed  over  her  faoe,  that  Misa 
Maggie  jumped  back,  and  stood  regarding  her  with  widd 
open  and  startled  eyes,  the  picture  of  astonishment. 

"  Nothing — nothing,"  said  Georgia,  leaning  her  elbow 
on  the  table,  and  dropping  her  forehead  on  it :  ^'  a  sudden 
pain — gone  now.     Pray  do  not  be  alarmed." 

"  Oh,  I  ain't  alarmed,"  said  Miss  Maggie  composedly. 
"Do  you  think  you  will  like  to  live  out  here?  it's  awful 
lonesome,  I  can  tell  you  ;  a  quarter  of  a  mile  almost  to  the 
nearest  house.  Licie  and  I  want  papa  to  stop  in  New  York 
in  the  winter,  but  he  won't — he  doesn't  mind  a  word  we 
say.  Papas  are  always  the  dreadfulest,  most  obstinate  sort 
of  people  in  the  world — now,  ain't  they  ? — always  thinking 
they  know  best,  you  know,  and  always  dreadfully  provok- 
ing. Oh,  dear  me  !"  saio  Miss  Maggie,  with  a  deep  sigh, 
as  she  fell  back  in  her  chair,  and  held  up  and  glanced 
admiringly  at  one  pretty  little  foot  and  distracting  ankle, 
"  I  don't  know  what  we  should  ever  do  only  papa  comes 
from  the  city  to  see  us,  and  that  nice  Signor  Popkius,  who 
was  a  count  or  a  legion  of  honor,  or  some  funny  thing  in 
France,  and  got  exiled  by  that  nasty  Louis  Napoleon,  comes 
and  gives  Licie  and  me  two  music  lessons  every  week.  Oh  ! 
Miss  Randall,  he's  got  ist  the  sweetest  hair  you  ever  saw  ; 
and  mustaches — oh,  >  goodness  !  8U3h  mustaches — that 
Btick  out  I'kr  two  ^  ing-brushes;  and  splendid  long 
whiskers,  liki  a  cow's  tail.  Felice  don't  care  much  for 
him,  because  sh  thinks  she's  caught  that  nice,  clever  Mr. 
Randall,  your    -^  nesake,  ^ou  know  ;  but  I  guess  she  ain'l 


THE   DAWN    OF   ANOIUBR    DA/, 


Wt% 


wo  lure  of  him  as  she  thinks.  Oh  !  he  does  write  the  most 
diviue  poetry  ever  was — doi^n  right  splendid,  you  know  ; 
and  every  lady  is  raving  about  him.  He's  travelled  all  over 
Ecrope,  and  Asia,  and  Africa,  and  the  North  Pole,  and 
California,  and  lots  of  othor  nice  places,  and  knows — oh, 
dear  me,  he  knows  a  dreadful  sight  of  things,  and  is  a 
splendid  talker.  lie  only  came  from  England  two  weeks 
ago,  and  everybody  is  making  such  a  time  about  him. 
Felice  met  him  at  a  party,  and  he  came  here  last  night 
with  the  divinest  bouquet,  and  she  thinks  she  has  him,  but 
/  know  better.  Then  some  more  gentlemen  come  here. 
Lem  Turner,  and  Ike  Brown,  and  Dick  Curtis,  but  he's 
gone   away   somewhere   to   the   country,    to   where   some 

friend  of  his  lives Iley  ?    What  now  ?    Another  pain. 

Miss  Randall  ?" 

"  No— yes.  Excuse  me,  Miss  Leonard,  I  am  very  tired, 
and  will  lie  down  now.  Tou  will  please  to  tell  them  I  do 
not  feel  well  enough  to  go  down  to  tea." 

"  Well,  there  I  I  might  have  known  you  were  tired,  and 
not  kept  on  talking  so,  but  I  am  such  a  dreadful  chatterbox, 
ril  tell  Susan  to  bring  up  your  tea.  Good-by,  Misa 
Randall ;  1  hope  you'll  be  quite  well  to-morrow,  I'm  sure." 
And  the  loquacious  damsel  bowed  a  smiling  adieu,  and 
retired. 

Georgia  was  better  the  next  morning,  and  able  to  join 
the  family  at  breakfast,  which  meal  was  enlivened  by  a 
steady  flow  of  talk  from  Miss  Maggie,  and  a  series  of  snap- 
pish contradictions  and  marginal  notes  froiu  Miss  Felice, 
who  never  got  her  temper  on  till  near  noon.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Leonard  took  both  daughters  as  matters  of  course,  and 
•eemed  quite  used  to  this  sort  of  thing.     On  Geor£ia'8  part 


980 


THB   DAWN   OF   ANOTHER   DAY. 


t 


it  passed  almost  in  silence,  as  she  sat  like  some  cold,  marbto 
statue,  with  scarcely  more  signs  of  life. 

After  breakfast  Miss  Felice  sat  down  to  practice  some 
unearthly  exercises  on  the  grand  piano  that  adorned  the 
drawing-room,  and  Miss  Maggie  Leonard  bore  off  Georgia 
and  the  three  juvenile  Leonards  to  a  large,  high,  severe- 
looking  room,  adorned  with  a  dismal-looking  blackboard, 
sundry  maps,  with  red,  green,  yellow  splashes,  supposed  to 
represent  this  terrestrial  globe.  Four  solemn- looking  black 
desks  were  in  the  four  corners,  and  one  in  the  middle  for 
the  teacher.  Books,  and  ink  bottles,  and  slates,  without 
end,  were  scattered  about,  and  this,  Mrs.  Leonard  informed 
Georgia,  was  the  school-room,  and  after  administering  a 
small  lecture  to  Messrs.  Albert  and  Royal  and  Miss  Jennie, 
the  purport  of  which  was  that  the  world  in  general  ex- 
pected them  to  be  good  children  and  learn  fast,  and  mind 
Miss  Randall,  she  floated  out,  bearing  off  the  unwilling 
Miss  Maggie,  and  Georgia  began  her  new  life  an  teacher. 

That  day  seemed  endless  to  Georgia.  Accustomed  to 
uncontrolled  freedom  and  wild  liberty,  she  was  fitted  less 
for  a  teacher  than  for  anything  else  in  the  world.  That 
love  of  children  which  it  is  necessary  every  teacher  should 
possess,  Georgia  had  not,  and  before  the  wearisome  day 
was  done  every  feeling  that  had  not  been  stunned  into 
numbness  rose  in  rebeUion  against  the  intolerable  servitude. 

At  four  o'clock  the  day's  labor  was  over,  and  the  chil- 
dren, glad  to  be  released,  scampered  off. 

Seating  herself  at  the  desk,  Georgia  dropped  her  throb- 
bing head  upon  it,  giddy  and  blind  with  one  of  her  deadly 
headaches,  which  until  the  '  ast  month  or  two,  she  had  aeyei 
known. 


%*mh  L«iiw»  I 


^mMttAvm  \ii  mi  i<li 


THE   DAWN    OF   ANOTHER    DAT, 


Ml 


Suddenly  the  door  was  fluog  open,  and  Miss  Maggie*t 
ringing  voioe  was  hoard. 

*'  Well,  Miss  Haadall,  how  did  yoa  get  on  ?    Mamma 
wonldn^t  let   mc   oome   up,  and  it   was   real  mean  of  her 
W^by,   what's   the   matter  ?    Oh,  my   goodness  I  you   look 
dreadful  !" 

"  I  have  got  a  headache/*  said  Georgia,  pressing  her 
hands  to  her  throbbing  temples  dizzily. 

'*  Oh,  you  have  !  Being  in  this  hot  room  all  day  has 
caused  it.  Do  let  me  bring  you  your  things,  and  come  out 
for  a  walk.  It  is  a  beautiful  evening,  though  cold,  and  the 
air  will  do  you  good.  Come.  V\\  go  with  you.  Miss  Ran- 
dall.    Shall  I  go  and  get  your  things  ?" 

"  You  are  very  good,"  said  Georgia,  faintly  ;  "  I  think  I 
will ;  I  feel  almost  suffocated." 

Maggie  bounded  away,  and  the  next  moment  came  flying 
back,  rolled  up  in  a  huge  shawl,  and  her  pretty  faoe 
eclipsed  in  an  immense  quilted  hood.  She  held  another 
shawl  and  hood  in  her  hands,  and  before  Georgia  knew 
where  she  was,  she  found  herself  all  muffled  up  and  ready 
for  the  road. 

**  Now,  then  !"  said  Miss  Maggie,  briskly  ;  *^  come  along  ! 
See  if  the  wind  won't  blow  roses  into  those  white  cheeks  of 
yours  !" 

Passing  her  arm  around  Georgia's  waist,  Maggie  drew 
her  with  her  out  of  the  house. 

The  day  was  cold,  and  clear,  and  bright,  and  windless 
a  frosty,  sunshiny,  cold  afternoon.     The  fli:n,  sinking  in  the 
west,  shed  a  red  glow  over  the  snow-covered  fields,  and 
gave  a  golden  brightness  to  the  windows  of  the  house. 

Some  of  the  old  wild  spirit,  that  nothing  but  death 
could  ever  entirely  crush  out  of  Georgia's  gipsy  heart,  roM 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

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THE    DAWN    OF  ANOTHER    DAT, 


A 


as  tie  cold,  keen  frosty  air  cooled  her  fevered  brow.  Fhc 
languid  eyes  lit  up,  and  she  started  at  a  rapid  walk  that 
kept  Maggie  breathless,  and  laughing,  and  running,  and 
quite  unable  to  talk, 

"  Oh,  my  stars  I"  said  Maggie,  at  last,  as  she  stopped, 
panting,  and  leaned  against  a  fence.  "  If  you  haven't  g«t 
the  seven-league  boots  on.  Miss  Randall,  then  I  should  like 
to  know  who  has  ?  You  ought  to  go  into  training  for  a 
female  pedestrian,  and  you  would  make  your  fortune  in 
twenty-five-cent  pieces.  I  declare  I'm  just  about  tired  to 
death." 

"  Why,  how  thoughtless  I  am  I"  said  Georgia,  whose 
excited  pace  had  scarcely  kept  time  with  her  excited 
thonghts  ;  **  I  forgot  you  could  not  walk  as  fast  as  I  can. 
Suppose  you  sit  down  and  rest,  and  I  will  wait." 

"  All  right,  then,"  said  Mapj^rie,  as  she  clambered  with 
great  agility  to  the  top  of  the  icnce  and  sat  down  on  the 
top  rail ;  "but  *  Hold,  Macduff  !  who  comes  here  V  " 

A  sleigh  came  dashing  along  the  road,  drawn  by  a  small, 
spirited  horse  that  seemed  fairly  to  fly.  It  was  occupied 
by  a  gentleman  wearing  a  large  black  cloak,  and  a  fur  cap 
drawn  down  over  his  brow. 

As  he  reached  them  he  turned  round  and  glanced  care* 
lessly  toward  the  two  girls.  For  one  instant  his  face  was 
turned  ftlly  toward  them,  the  next  he  was  whirling  away 
out  of  sight. 

"  Oh,  how  handsome  !  oh,  isn't  he  beautiful  ?"  exclaimed 
Maggie,  clasping  her  hands  enthusiastically  ;  "  such  splen* 
did  eyes,  and  such  a  pale,  handsome  face,  and  such  a  glori- 
ous driver.  My  !  how  I  would  like  to  be  in  that  sleigh 
with  him.     I  would — wouldn't  you,  Miss  Randall  ?'* 

She  turned  to  Georgia,  and  fairly  leaped  off  the  feno« 


rh€ 

that 
and 


DESOLATION. 


961 


Li  amazement  to  see  her  standing  rigid  and  motionless, 
with  wildly  distended  eyes  and  white,  startled  face,  gazing 
after  the  object  of  Maggie's  admiration. 

"  Why,  Miss  Randall  I  Miss  Randall !"  said  Maggiei, 
catching  her  arms,  "  what's  the  matter  ?  Do  you  know 
him?" 

"  Let  us  go  back,  Miss  Leonard,"  said  Georgia,  passing 
her  hand  over  her  eyes  as  if  to  dispel  some  wild  vision. 

Know  him !  Yes,  as  if  they  had  parted  but  yesterday 
Could  Georgia  forget  Charley  Wildair  ? 


CHAPTER  XIX 


DESOLATION. 


*'  And  the  stately  ships  go  on 
To  the  haven  under  the  hill, 
But  oh  for  the  touch  of  a  vanished  hand, 
And  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  is  still." 

Tainmoir. 

|LL  that  night  Georgia's  thoughts  ran  in  a  new 
direction — Charley  Wildair.  Yes,  she  had  been 
face  to  face  with  the  living,  breathing  friend  of 
her  childhood  once  more.  The  mystery  that 
surrounded  him  rose  up  in  her  mind,  and  again  she  found 
herself  wondering  what  he  had  done,  what  crime  he  had 
committed.  Evening  after  evening  she  walked  out  in  the 
same  place,  in  the  hope  oi  seeing  him  again,  when  she  was 
determined  to  speak  to  him  at  all  hazards  ;  but  in  vain  ;  ht 
came  not,  no  one  knew,  or  could  tell  her  anything  of  him 
who  had  passed  that  evening.    As  day  after  day  wore  oa, 


W4 


DESOLATION. 


!      I 


she  began  to  regard  his  appearance  almost  n  the  light  •# 
an  apparition — something  her  disordered  imagination  had 
conjured  up  to  mock  her,  and  at  last  even  the  hope  of  seeing 
him  again,  faded  away. 

And  so  a  month  passed  on.  Oh  !  that  dreary,  endless, 
monotonous  month,  with  nothing  but  the  dull  routine  of 
the  school-room  day  after  day. 

There  were  times  when  Georgia  would  start  wildly  up, 
feeling  as  though  she  were  going  mad  ;  and  evening  after 
evening,  when  the  last  lesson  was  said,  she  would  throw 
her  shawl  over  her  shoulders  and  hurry  out  into  the  cold 
wintry  weather,  and  walk  and  walk  for  miles  with  dizzy 
rapidity,  to  cool  the  fever  in  her  blood.  Night  after  uighl, 
when,  unable  to  lie  tossing  on  her  bed,  she  would  spring  up, 
and,  heedless  of  the  freezing  air,  pace  her  room  till  morn- 
ing. The  wild  fire  in  her  eye,  even  in  the  presence  of 
others,  bespoke  the  consuming  fever  in  her  veins  that  seemed 
drying  up  the  very  source  of  life  in  her  heart.  Had  she 
been  leading  some  exciting,  turbulent  life,  it  would  have 
been  better  for  her  ;  but  this  stagnant  monotony  seemed  in 
a  fair  way  of  making  her  a  maniac  before  long.  There 
were  times  when  her  very  soul  would  cry  out  with  passion- 
ate yearning  for  what  she  had  lost — times  when  an  uncon- 
trollable impulse  to  fly,  fly,  far  away  from  this  place,  to 
search  over  the  world  for  him  she  had  left,  and,  in  spite  of 
all  that  had  passed,  to  cling  to  him  forever,  would  seize 
her,  and  she  would  struggle  and  wrestle  with  the  fierce  de- 
sire until,  from  very  bodily  weakness,  she  would  sink  down 
in  a  very  stupor  of  despair. 

It  seemed  to  her  as  if  a  dark  doom  had  been  hanging 
over  her  from  childhood  and  had  fallen  at  last — a  widow  in 
fate  though  not  in  fact,  an  outcast  from  all  the  world,  and 


I 


wemsmm 


DEBOLATlOy, 


ftlmost  with  the  brand  of  murder  on  her  brow.  Bat  oh,  if 
abe  had  sinned,  was  not  the  expiation  heavier  than  it 
deserved  ?  A  life  of  d&solation,  a  death  uncheered  by  a 
single  friendly  face,  to  live  forgotten  and  die  forlorn,  tluU 
was  her  doom.  Poor  Georgia  I  what  wonder  that,  frenzied 
and  despairing,  the  cry  of  her  heart  should  be,  "My 
punishment  is  heavier  than  I  can  bear." 

The  Leonards  hardly  knew  what  to  make  of  Georgia. 
Mr.  Leonard  looked  pityingly  on  the  white  face,  so  eloquent 
of  wrong  and  misery,  and  expressed  his  opinion  that  she 
had  come  through  more  than  people  thought.  Mrs. 
Leonard  was  rather  puzzled  about  the  young  governess ; 
when  in  her  wild  paroxysms  she  would  hear  startling 
legends  of  her  walking  through  frost  and  snow  for  miles 
together,  and  would  hear  a  quick,  rapid  footstep  pacing  up 
and  down,  up  and  down  her  chamber  the  live-long  nightj 
and  would  see  the  wild,  lurid  fire  in  her  great  black  eyes, 
she  would  give  it  as  her  opinion  that  Miss  Randall  was  not 
quite  right  in  her  mind  ;  but  when  this  mood  would  pass 
away,  and  reaction  would  follow,  and  when  she  would  note 
the  slow,  weary  step  and  pallid  cheeks,  and  spiritless  eyes, 
and  lifeless  movements,  she  would  retract,  and  say  she 
really  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  her. 

Miss  Felice  snappishly  said  it  was  all  afitectation ;  the 
governess  wanted  to  be  odd,  and  mysterious,  and  interest- 
ing ;  and  if  she  was  her  father  she  would  put  an  end  to  hei 
long  walks,  or  know  why.  But  these  little  remarks  were 
prudently  made  when  Georgia  was  not  listening  ;  for  if  the 
truth  must  be  told,  Miss  Leonard  stood  more  than  slightly 
in  awe  of  the  dark,  majestic,  melancholy  governess.  MIm 
Maggie  declared  it  was  "  funny,"  but  she  rather  liked 
Georgia,  though  after  the  first  week  or  two  she  voted  hei 


fi 


886 


DESOLATION. 


I  'il 


tt 


awful  tiresome,  worse  than  Felice,"  a  id  left  her  pretty 
much  to  herself.  Her  pupils  liked  her,  but  were  rather 
afraid  of  her  in  her  dark  moods,  and,  like  the  rest  of  the 
household,  stood  considerably  in  awe  of  her,  wrapped  as 
she  was  in  her  dark  mantle  of  unvarying  gloom. 

During  this  first  month  of  her  stay,  Georgia  had  spoken 
to  no  one  but  the  household.  Visitors  there  were  almost 
every  day,  but  Georgia  always  fled  at  their  approach,  and 
both  the  Misses  Leonard,  conscious  of  her  superior  beauty, 
had  no  desire  to  be  eclipsed  by  their  queenly  dependent, 
and  were  quite  willing  she  should  be  invisible  on  these  oc- 
casions. Since  she  had  heard  Dick  Curtis  was  a  friend  of 
the  family,  she  had  dreaded  the  approach  of  every  stranger, 
and  always  sent  some  excuse  for  not  appearing  at  table  at 
Buch  times.  Therefore,  sometimes  whole  days  would  pass 
without  her  leaving  her  own  room  and  the  school-room. 

As  the  children's  study  only  comprised  five  hours  each 
day,  Georgia  had  a  great   deal   of   spare  time  to  herself 
This  she  had  hitherto  spent  either  in  her  long,  wild  walks 
or  in  her  dark  reveries  ;  but  now,  of  late,  a  new  inspiration 
had  seized  her. 

One  day,  to  amuse  little  Jennie,  she  had  seized  her  pen- 
cil and  drawn  her  portrait,  and  the  drawing  proved  to  be 
so  life-like  that  the  whole  family  were  in  transports.  The 
Misses  Leonard  immediately  made  a  simultaneous  rush  for 
the  school-room,  and  overwhelmed  Georgia  with  praises  of 
her  talent,  and  pleadings  to  sketch  theirs,  too.  And 
Georgia,  feeling  a  sort  of  happiness  in  pleasing  them,  read- 
ily promised.  The  drawings  were  commenced  and  finished, 
and  Georgia  had  unconsciously  idealized  and  rendered  them 
so  perfectly  lovely,  yet  so  true  to  the  originals,  that  they, 
m  their  ecstatic  admiration,  insisted  that  they  should  h% 


DESOLATION. 


un 


retty 

ither 

the 

Id  as 


perpetuated  in  oil.  Finding  the  occupation  ao  absorbing 
and  80  congenial,  Georgia  willingly  consented,  and  sittings 
were  appointed  every  day  until  the  portraits  were  finished. 
And  finished  they  were  at  last,  and  set  in  gorgeous  frames, 
and  with  eyes  sparkling  with  delight,  the  Misses  Leonard 
saw  themselves,  or  rather  their  ethorialized  counterfeits, 
hanging  in  splendor  on  the  drawing-room  walls,  and  calling 
forth  the  most  enthusiastic  praises  of  the  unknown  artist's 
skill  from  their  guests,  for  Georgia  had  only  painted  them 
on  condition  that  no  one  was  to  be  told. 

Then  she  voluntarily  offered  to  paint  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Leonard  and  the  three  children,  and  at  Jennie's  erirnest 
desire,  her  little  tortoise-shell  kitten  was  seduced  into  sit- 
ting still  long  enough  to  be  taken  too.  This  last  was  a 
labor  of  love,  for,  strangely  enough,  it  brought  back  soft- 
ened thoughts  of  the  happy  days  spent  in  romping  through 
the  cottage  by  the  sea  with  Betsey  Periwinkle. 

And  a  faint,  sad,  dreary  smile  broke  over  Georgia's  face 
as  she  painted  the  little  blinking  animal,  and  thought  of  all 
the  old  associations  it  called  forth.  It  brought  back  Miss 
Jerusha,  and  little  Emily  Murray — dear  little  Emily  Mur- 
ray, whose  memory  always  came  to  her  like  the  soft  sweet 
music  of  an  Eolian  harp  amid  the  repose  of  a  storm.  She 
wondered  vaguely  if  they  missed  her  much,  and  what  they 
would  think  of  her  flight,  and  whether  they  would  shudder 
in  horror  when  they  heard  what  she  had  done,  or  whether 
they  would  think  lovingly  of  her  still. 

"  Some  day,  when  they  hear  I  am  dead,  perhaps  they 
will  forgive  me  and  love  me  again,"  she  thought,  with  some* 
thing  of  the  simplicity  of  the  ihild  Georgia,  as  a  gentler 
feeling  came  to  her  heart  than  had  visited  it  for  many  a 
day.    Somehow,  Emily's  memory  always  did  soften  her  and 


n 


ii^ 


988 


DESOLATlOlf. 


'f 


bring  back  a  gentler  mood.  In  her  wiidest  stormi  of 
anguish  and  remorse,  in  the  darkest  hour  of  her  desolation, 
that  sweet,  calm,  holy  voung  face,  with  its  serene  brow  and 
•eraphio  blue  eyes,  would  arise  and  exorcise  her  gloom,  and 
leave  her  calmer,  softer  feeling  behind. 

One  day,  on  the  occasion  of  Mrs.  Leonard's  birthday, 
the  children  had  a  holiday,  and  Georgia  was  left  to  herself. 
Seating  herself  at  the  window,  she  began  to  draw  faces 
from  memory.  The  first  was  a  long,  angular  one,  with  pro- 
jecting bones  and  sharp  features,  sunken  eyes,  and  thin, 
compressed  lips,  the  hair  drawn  tightly  back  and  gathered 
in  an  uncompromising  hard  knot  behind.  An  intelligent, 
dignified-looking  cat  sat  composedly  at  her  feet,  deeply 
absorbed  in  thought.  Any  one  could  recognize,  in  these 
portraits.  Miss  Jerusha  and  our  old  friend  Betsey  Periwinkle. 

"  Dear  Miss  Jerusha  I  dear,  good  friend  !"  murmured 
(Georgia,  softly,  as  she  gazed  at  the  picture.  "I  wonder 
will  I  ever  see  you  again.  I  wonder  if  you  have  grieved 
for  my  loss,  and  if  you  ever,  these  wild,  stormy  nights, 
think  of  your  lost  Georgey.  Dear  Miss  Jerusha,  may 
Heaven  reward  you  for  your  kindness  to  the  poor  orphan 

girl." 

The  next  was  a  fairer  face,  a  small  head  set  on  an 
arching  neck  ;  a  low,  smooth,  childish  brow  ;  small,  regu- 
lar, dainty  featurers  ;  sweet,  wondering,  wietful  eyes  ;  a 
littld  dimpled  chin,  and  softly  smiling  lips,  just  revealing 
the  pearly  teeth  within.  It  might  have  been  the  face  of  an 
angel  had  it  not  been  Emily  Murray's,  spiritualized,  as 
everything  Georgia's  magio  pencil  touched  was.  Such  a 
lovely,  child-like,  innocent  face  as  it  was,  smiling  np  from 
the  paper  with  such  a  look  of  heavenly  calm  and  serenity 
that  no  breath  of  worldly  passion  had  ever  disturbed. 


DESOLATION. 


of 

lion, 
land 
land 


•ay, 
^elf. 


•  Oh,  dear  little  Emily  I  dear  little  Emily  !''  said  Qeor- 
l^a,  in  a  trembling  voice.  "  My  good  angel  I  if  I  had  only 
been  like  you.  Calm,  peaceful,  bappy  little  Emily  !  what 
will  you  tiiink  of  me  when  you  hear  what  I  have  done." 

She  hesitated  a  moment  before  she  commenced  the  next, 
and  then,  as  if  a  sudden  inspiration  had  seized  her,  she  rap- 
idly began  to  sketch.  Soon  there  appeared  a  noble,  intel- 
lectual-looking head — a  high,  broad,  princely  brow- — square 
eyebrows,  meeting  across  the  strongly  marked  nose — large, 
strong,  earnest  eyes — a  fine  resolute  mouth,  and  square, 
resolute  chin.  Heavy  waves  of  dark  hair  were  shaken  care- 
lessly off  the  noble  forehead,  and  it  needed  nothing  now 
but  the  thick  dark  mustache,  and  the  calm,  handsome, 
kingly  face  of  Richmond  Wildair  looked  at  her  from  the 
paper.  In  the  seemingly  fathomless  eyes  there  shone  a 
look  of  sorrowful  reproach,  and  a  sort  of  sad  sternness  per- 
vaded the  whole  face.  The  very  lips  seemed  to  part  and 
say,  "oh,  Georgia,  what  have  you  done?"  and  with  a 
great  ory  of  "  oh,  Richmond  I  Richmond  t  Richmond  !" 
she  flung  down  her  pencil,  then  threw  herself  on  her  faoe 
on  the  couch,  and  for  the  first  time  in  years,  for  the  first 
time  almost  since  she  could  remember,  she  wept,  wept  long, 
passionately,  and  bitterly. 

It  was  a  strange  thing  to  see  this  stone-like  Georgia 
weep.  In  all  her  misery  she  had  shed  no  tears  ;  in  her 
stormy  childhood  she  had  wept  not,  and  the  tears  of  chfld* 
hood  are  an  easily  flowing  spring  ;  yet  now  she  lay,  and 
wept,  and  sobbed,  wildly,  passionately,  vehemently,  wept 
for  hours,  until  the  very  source  of  her  tears  seemed  dried 
np,  and  would  flow  no  longer. 

And  from  that  day  Georgia  grew  calmer  and  more 
rational  than  she  had  ever  been  before.  It  was  strange  the 
18 


4 


^ 


8dO 


DESOLATION. 


Ill, 


ooQsolation  she  rlerived  from  IbeHo  ''  counterfeit  present- 
ments" of  those  she  loved,  and  yet  it  was  so.  For  hoars 
she  would  sit  gazing  at  them,  and  sometimes  she  would 
fancy  Emily's  smiling  lips  seemed  saying,  "  Hope  on,  Geor- 
gia I  before  morning  dawns  night  is  ever  darkest." 

The  Leonards,  grateful  for  being  made  such  handsome 
people,  were  quite  solicitous  in  their  efforts  to  make  the 
governess  comfortable.  Georgia  had  a  heart  easily  won 
by  kindness,  aud  as  time  passed  or,  she  seemed,  for  the 
present  at  least,  to  grow  reconciled  to  her  lot.  Perhaps 
the  secret  of  this  was  that  she  had  begun  an  achievement 
that  had  long  been  in  her  thoughts,  and  in  which  she  was 
so  completely  absorbed  as  to  be  for  a  time  quite  insensible 
to  outward  things.  This  was  a  large  painting  of  Hagar  in 
the  Wilderness,  a  wild,  weird  thing,  on  which  she  worked 
night  and  day  in  a  fever  of  enthusiasm. 

Had  any  one  seen  her,  in  the  still,  mystic  watches  of 
the  night,  bending  over  her  easel,  her  dark  hair  flowing 
behind  her,  her  wild  eyes  blazing,  her  whole  face  inspired 
— they  might  have  taken  her  for  the  very  genius  of  art 
descended  on  earth.  She  scarcely  knew  what  was  her  de- 
sign in  painting  this ;  probably,  at  the  time,  she  had  none, 
but  a  love  of  the  work  itself — a  love  that  increased  to  % 
perfect  fever,  as  it  grew  under  her  brash.  None  of  the 
family  knew  aught  of  it,  and  they  puzzled  themselves  in 
vain  wondering  what  she  coald  be  doing  to  keep  a  light 
burning  so  late  every  night. 

It  was  drawing  toward  the  close  of  February  that  th« 
severest  snow  storm  that  they  had  during  the  season  fell. 
For  nearly  a  week  it  raged  with  unceasing  violence,  and 
several  gentlemen  and  ladies  from  the  city  were  storm- 
bound at  Mr.  Leonard's.    During  their  stay,  Georgia,  as 


r^^^SI|MH 


t^MSOLATlON. 


Qsnal,  absented  herself  from  tbo  tabic  and  drawing-room, 
and  the  young  ladies  were  bo  busy  with  their  guests  that 
even  Miss  Maggie  found  no  time  to  visit  her.  Georgia  did 
not  regret  this  circumstance,  as  it  gave  her  more  time  to 
devote  to  her  painting,  srA  secured  her  from  interruption. 

One  wild,  snowy  evening,  when  it  was  too  dark  to 
paint  and  too  soon  to  light  the  lamp,  Georgia  passed  from 
her  room  and  walked  swiftly  in  the  direction  of  the  library 
in  search  of  a  book.  She  knew  the  library  was  seldom  vis- 
ited, especially  in  the  evening,  when  other  amusements 
ruled  the  hour,  and  so,  not  fearing  detection,  she  went  in, 
found  the  book  she  was  in  search  of,  and,  seating  herself 
within  a  deep  bay-window,  drew  the  crimson  damask  cur- 
tains close,  and  thus  shut  in  on  one  side  by  red  drapery 
and  on  the  other  by  the  clear  glass,  through  which  she 
could  watch  the  drifting  snow,  she  began  to  read. 

It  was  a  volume  of  poems  by  W.  D.  Randall,  the  young 
poet,  whose  fame  was  already  resounding  through  the  land. 
Such  a  sweet,  dreamy,  delicious  volume  as  it  was  !  Fasci- 
nated, absorbed,  Georgia  strained  her  eyes,  and  read  and 
read  on  as  long  as  one  ray  of  light  remained,  unable  to  tear 
herself  away  from  the  enchanted  pages,  and  feeling  as  if 
she  were  transported  to  some  Arcadia,  some  fairy-land,  by 
the  magic  power  of  the  poet's  pen. 

At  last  it  grew  too  dark  to  read  another  word,  and  then 
she  closed  the  book  and  fell  into  a  reverie  of — the  author. 
She  knew  he  '<'as  a  visitor  at  the  house,  and  for  once  her 
curiosity  was  strongly  excited.  She  resolved  to  see  him. 
She  would  make  Maggie  point  him  out  the  next  t^me  ho 
came,  and  see  for  herself  what  manner  of  man  this  young 
genius  was.  There  had  been  a  steel  portrait  of  him  in  th.j 
book,  but  Miss  Felice  had  carefully  cut  it  out  and  preserved 


]; 


!l 


\l 


I  r 


J 


DirSOLJiTlON. 

it  for  berown  private  cse,  as  something  not  to  be  profaned 
by  yalgar  eyes,  to  the  violent  indignation  of  Miss  Maggie. 

While  she  still  sat  musing  dreamily,  she  was  startled  by 
hearing  the  door  flung  open,  and  then  a  gleam  of  light 
flashed  through  the  curtain,  Hoping  it  might  be  some 
servant  to  light  the  gas,  she  glanced  out  between  the  folds 
and  saw  Miss  Felice  herself,  standing  beside  a  tall,  liand 
some,  distinguished  looking  young  man.  Retreat  was  now 
out  of  the  question.  Georgia  would  not  have  encountered 
the  stranger  for  worlds,  lest  he  should  happen  U:  recognize 
her ;  and,  trusting  they  only  came  for  a  book  and  would 
Boon  go  away  again,  she  resolved  to  sit  still. 

"And  so  you  will  translate  'Undine'  for  me,  Mr. 
Randall,"  said  Miss  Felice,  whose  dress  was  perfection,  and 
whose  face  was  quite  brilliant  with  smiles.  "  Oh,  that  will 
be  charming.  The  children's  governess  teaches  German, 
but  I  never  could  get  her  to  read  Undine." 

This,  then,  was  the  poet.  At  any  other  time  she 
would  have  become  completely  absorbed  in  looking  at  him, 
but  the  mention  of  "  Undine  "  sent  a  pang  to  her  heart,  and 
she  sank  back  in  her  seat  and  bowed  her  face  in  her  hands. 
The  sweet,  sorrowful  story  of  the  German  poet  seemed  so 
like  her  own — she  was  the  Undine,  Freddy  Richmond  was 
the  base,  designing  Bertalda,  and  Huldbrand— oh,  no,  no  t 
Richmond  was  not  like  him. 

"  It  is  a  lovely  tale.  You  do  well  to  learn  German,  Mim 
Iieonard,  if  only  f  cr  the  sake  of  reading  *  Undine '  in  the 
original,"  said  Mr.  Randall 

'^  I  have  something  else  that  is  lovely  here,"  mid  3Cat 
I^eonard,  looking  arch. 

"  Yes — yourself,"  said  Mr.  Randall. 
No,  no  ;  of  course  not — W.  D.  Randall's  poem^" 


It 


-'^ 


DEBOLAHOIf. 


u 


'  And  joa  call  that  lovely  t  Well,  I  gave  jq  i  credit 
tyt  better  taste,  Mies  Felice." 

"Ob,  they  are  charming,  sweet,  so  nice/**  cried  Miaa 
Felice,  clasping  her  hands  in  a  small  transport. 

A  smile  broke  over  the  handsome  face  of  the  poet.  How 
pleasant  it  must  be  for  a  poet  to  hear  his  po^'ms  called  nice. 

"  Well,  never  mind  them  ;  let  ns  find  *  Undine,*  "  said 
Mr.  Randall. 

"  I'm  sure  IVe  sat  up  nights  and  nearly  cried  my  eyea 
out  over  that  beautiful  poem  *Regina, '  Did  you  ever  see 
any  one  like  the  *  Regina'  you  described  so  delightfully?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Randall,  a  sort  of  shadow  coming  over 
his  face,  "once,  in  my  childhood,  I  saw  such  a  one — a 
'queen  of  noble  nature's  crowning ;'  one  whoM  every 
motion  seemed  to  say  : 

"  •  Ineedo  B^ind*— 
*  I  move  a  queen.'  ** 

«  Dear  me,"  said  Miss  Felice,  how  nice  I  I  really  should 
like  to  see  her.  I  suppose  she  will  be  Mrs.  Randall  some 
day,"  and  Miss  Felice,  looking  up  between  her  ringlets,  did 
the  artless  to  perfection. 

Mr.  Randall  smiled  again  ;  it  was  evident  he  read  Miss 
Felice  like  a  book. 

"  Hardly,  I  am  afraid.  I  don't  approve  of  the  Regica 
style  of  woman  for  wives  myself .  Something  less  imposing 
would  suit  me  better — a  nice  little  thing  like " 

Miss  Felice  had  casX  down  her  long  lashes,  and  stood 
looking  as  innocent  and  guileless  as  a  stage  angel ;  but  here 
Mr.  Randall  most  provokingly  paused  and  began  caressing 
a  hideously  ugly  little  Scotch  terrier  that  had  followed  him 
faito  the  room. 


6. 


' 


i:| 


!     i|!' 


I!        il 


, 


» 


SM 


DESOLATION. 


Georgia  had  to  smile  in  spite  of  herself  at  the  proToking 
nonchalance  of  the  poet,  more  particularly  as  Miss  Felice 
tnmed  half  pettishly  away,  and  then,  remembering  that 
her  role  was  to  be  sweet  and  simple,  she  gave  him  a  smiling 
glance  and  returned  to  the  charge, 

"  And  those  verses  on  Niagara  are  so  pretty  I  Papa 
took  Maggie  and  me  to  the  Falls  last  summer,  and  I  did 
like  them  so  much  !    Oh,  dear  me !  they  are  so  sweet !" 

Mr.  Randall  laughed  outright.  Misp  Felice  looked  up 
in  astonishment,  but  just  at  that  moment  Ittle  Jennie  came 
running  in  with  something  in  her  hand. 

"  Oh  Licie  !  look  what  I  have  got — such  a  lovely 
picture  of  the  most  beautiful  lady  ever  was  !     Just  look." 

"  What  an  angelic  face  !"  impulsively  exclaimed  Mr. 
Randall  ;  "  a  perfect  Madonna  !  And  only  a  pencil  drawing, 
too  !  Why,  Miss  Leonard,  this  is  something  exquisite — a 
perfect  little  gem  !     I  never  saw  anything  more  lovely." 

"  Where  did  you  get  it,  Jennie  ?"  said  Miss  Felice. 

"  In  the  hall ;  it*8  Miss  Randalls — she  dropped  it  com- 
ing out  of  the  school-room.  I'm  going  to  ask  her  to  give  it 
to  me  ;  she  can  make  plenty  more." 

"  Is  it  possible  the  artist  resides  here  ?  You  don't  mean 
to  say  that " 

"  Oh,  it's  only  the  governess,"  said  Miss  Felice  ;  "  she 
draws  and  paints  very  well  indeed.  By  the  way,  she's  a 
namesake  of  yours,  too,  Mr.  Randall.  Yes,  I  see  now  it  it 
one  of  her  drawings  ;  I  could  tell  vhem  anywhere." 

The  poet  was  gazing  in  a  sort  of  rapture  at  the  picture. 
The  soft  eyes  and  sweet,  beautiful  lips  seemed  smiling  upon 
him — the  face  seemed  living  and  radiant  before  him. 

"  Why,  one  would  think  you  were  enchanted,  Mr.  Ran- 
dall," said  Miss  Felice,  half  pouting.    "  It's  fortunate  it'i 


r  i 


DSMOLATION. 


8M 


only  a  pictBre  and  not  a  living  face,  or  your  doom  woaM 
be  sealed." 

"  Oh,  it  is  perfect,  it  is  exquisite  !"  said  the  poet,  under 
his  breath  ;  *'  a  Madonna,  a  Saint  Cecilia,  a  seraph  I  Why, 
Miss  Leonard,  do  you  know  you  have  a  genius  under  tke 
roof  with  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir — Mr.  Randall,    said  Miss  Felice,  courtesying. 

"  Pshaw  !  I  mean  the  artist.  Come,  is  she  the  myste- 
rious painter  of  those  delicious  portraits  in  the  drawing- 
room  that  have  attracted  such  crowds  of  admirers  already  ?" 

"  Well,  since  you  have  guessed  it,  yes.  It  was  her  own 
wish  it  should  not  be  known." 

"  Why,  she  must  be  the  eighth  wonder  of  the  world — 
this  governess.  Who  is  she  ?  What  is  she  ?  Where  doei 
she  come  from  ?"  said  Mr.  Randall, :  .ipetuously. 

**  She  is  Miss  Randall — a  governess,  as  I  before  told 
you,  from  New  York  city,  and  that  is  her  whole  biography 
as  far  as  I  know  it,  except  that  she  is  very  strange,  and 
wild,  and  solemn-looking,  with  oh,  such  immense  black, 
haunting  eyes !" 

"  Oh,  Felice,  she's  really  pretty  I"  said  Jennie  ;  "  a  great 
deal  prettier  than  you  or  Mag.    Now  ain't  she.  Royal  V* 

"  Who  ?"  said  Royal,  entering  at  this  moment. 

«  Our  Miss  Randall." 

**  Yes,  I  reckon  she  is.  Miss  Randall's  a  tip-top  lady,"* 
said  Royal,  emphatically. 

"  I  really  should  like  to  see  her.  Won't  you  present 
me  to  this  genius.  Miss  Leonard  ?  It  is  not  fair  to  hide  so 
brilliant  a  light  under  a  bushel,"  said  Mr.  Randall.  "  I 
shall  probably  claim  kindrea  with  her,  as  we  both  have  th« 
tame  name." 

"  Well,  I  will  ask,"  said  Miss  Felice,  biting  her  lip.    **  I 


i 


IJ 


I'i' 
I 


M6 


DESOLAFlOir. 


i  •   1 
I  ill-. ' 

i  I 


M:; 


\4w. 


am  not  80  sare,  though,  that  she  will  consent,  she  is  m 
qneer.  Here's  *  Undine/  and  now  for  the  translation,  Mr. 
Randall." 

But  Mr.  Randall  stood  still,  with  his  eyes  riveted  on 
the  drawing. 

"  Dear  me,  Mr.  Randall,  hadn't  you  better  keep  that 
altogether?"  said  Miss  Felice,  pettishly.  "One  would 
think  you  had  fallen  in  love  with  it." 

<'  So  I  have,"  said  Mr.  Randall.  "  Come  here,  Miss 
Jennie  ;  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you.*' 

"  What  13  it  ?"  said  Jennie. 

**  That  if  Miss  Randall  gives  you  this  drawing,  you  will 
give  it  to  me,  and  I  will  bring  you  the  prettiest  book  I  can 
find  in  New  York  in  exchange." 

"  Will  you,  though  ?  Isn't  that  nice,  Royal  ?  Oh,  Til 
get  it  from  Miss  Randall — she's  real  good — and  I'll  give  it 
to  you.     May  I  tell  her  it's  for  you  ?" 

"  Just  as  you  like  ;  tell  her  anything  you  please,  so  as  to 
get  it  for  me.  Won't  you  tell  me  how  I  can  see  this  won- 
derful governess  of  yours.  Miss  Jennie  ?" 

"  Let's  see.     Come  up  to  the  school-room  with  mamma." 

"  By  Jove  !  I  will.  But  perhaps  she  wouldn't  like  me 
to  intrude." 

"  Mr.  Randall,  they  are  waiting  for  us  down  stairs," 
said  Miss  Felice,  stiffly.  "  Jennie — Royal — go  out  and  go 
to  bed." 

Georgia  caught  a  parting  glimpse  of  the  graceful,  gal- 
lant form  of  the  young  poet  as  he  held  open  the  door  for 
Miss  i/elice  to  go  out,  and  drew  a  deep  breath  of  relief  when 
they  were  gone.  Then,  having  assured  herself  that  the 
cost  was  clear,  she  hurried  out  and  sought  her  own  room, 
and  searched  for  Emily's  portrait,  but  it  was  missing. 


DBSOLATlOy, 


on 

lid 
Lisf 


}f 


Next  morning,  as  Georgia  was  about  to  inter  tLe  stchooK 
room,  Miss  Felice  flattered  up  stairs,  in  a  floating  white 
cashmere  morning-gown,  and  with  the  drawing  in  her 
hand. 

<*  Good-morning,  Miss  Randall,*'  she  said,  briefif ;  "  if 
this  yours  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Georgia,  quietly. 

"  Will  you  be  kind  enough  te  give  it  to  me  ?" 

"  It  is  the  portrait  of  a  very  dear  friend.  I  should  be 
happy  to  oblige  you  were  it  otherwise.  Miss  Leonard,"  said 
Georgia,  coldly. 

"  A  portrait !  that  heavenly  face  t  is  it  possible  ?'*  ex- 
claimed the  astounded  young  lady. 

Georgia  bowed  gravely. 

**  But  oh,  do  let  me  have  it !  do,  please  ;  you  can  draw 
another,  you  know,"  coaxed  Miss  Felice. 

'*  Of  what  possible  use  can  that  portrait  be  to  you,  Miss 
Leonard  ?*' 

"  Well,  it's  not  for  me,  it's  for  a  friend.  Do  oblige  me, 
Miss  Randall.    Mr.  Randall  wants  it  so  dreadfully." 

"Mr.  Randall!   who  is  he?" 

"  The  author,  the  poet  that  everybody  is  talking  about. 
He  saw  it  last  night  with  Jennie,  and  took  a  desperate 
fancy  to  it,  and,  what's  more,  wants  to  be  introduced  to 
you." 

"  I  would  rather  be  excused,"  said  Georgia,  with  some 
of  her  old  hauteur.  I  do  not  like  to  refuse  you.  Miss 
Leonard,  and  if  any  other  picture " 

"  Oh,  any  other  won't  do  ;  I  must  have  this.     There,  I 

shall  keep  it,  and  you  can  draw  a  dozen  like  it  any  time. 

And  every  one  would  not  refuse  to  be  introduced  to  Mr. 

Randall,  I  can  tell  you,"  said  Miss  Felice,  half  inclined  to 

18» 


t»: 


F0V2W   Aim   LOST. 


I    :1 


be  angry  ;  "  he  is  immensely  rich  and  ever  so  handsome, 
and  as  clever  as  ever  he  can  be,  and  most  yoang  ladies 
would  consider  it  an  honor  to  be  acquainted  with  him." 

Gkergia  bowed  slightly,  and  made  an  impatient  motion 
to  pass  on. 

*'  Well,  I  am  going  to  keep  it,  Miss  Randall,"  said  Miss 
Felice,  half  inquiringly. 

"  As  you  please.  Miss  Leonard.  Good-morning,"  and 
Georgia  swepu  on  to  the  school-room,  and  Miss  Felice  ran 
to  give  the  poet  the  picture,  and  tell  him  their  hanghty 
governess  refused  the  introduction. 


pii 


nj 


CHAPTER  XX. 

FOUND  AND  LOST. 

'*  There  are  words  of  deeper  sorrow 
Than  the  wail  above  the  dead." 

**  An  eagle  with  a  broken  wing, 
A  harp  with  many  a  broken  string.** 

T  was  a  pleasant  morning  in  early  spring.  The 
sunshine  lay  in  broad  sheets  of  golden  light 
over  the  fields,  and  tinted  the  tree-tops  with  a 
yellow  luster.  The  fresh  morning  air  came 
laden  with  the  fragrance  of  sweet  spring  flowers,  and  the 
musical  chirping  of  many  birds  from  the  neighboring  for- 
est was  borne  to  Georgia'  s  ears,  as  she  stood  on  the  ver- 
anda, her  thoughts  far  away. 

You  would  scarcely  have  recognized  the  flashing-eyei, 
blooming,   wild-hearted    Georgia  Darrell    in    thia  eeld, 


FOUND    AND    LOST, 


2M 


lOQ 


stately,  stone-like  Miss  Randall,  with  cheek  and  brow  cold 
and  colorless  as  Parian  marble,  and  the  dark,  mournfal 
eyes  void  of  light  and  sparkle. 

It  could  scarcely  be  expected  but  that  she  would  sink 
rfnder  the  dreary  monotony  of  her  life  here,  so  completely 
different  in  every  way  from  what  she  had  been  accustomed 
to  ;  and  of  late,  she  had  fallen  into  a  lifeless  lethargy,  from 
which  nothing  seemed  able  to  arouse  her.  There  were 
times,  it  was  true,  when,  for  an  instant,  she  would  a  wake, 
and  her  very  soul  would  cry  out  under  the  galling  <  bains 
of  her  intolerable  bondage;  but  these  flashes  of  he '^  old 
spirit  were  few  and  far  between,  and  were  always  followed 
by  a  lassitude,  a  languor,  a  dull,  spiritless  gloom,  under 
which  life,  and  flesh,  and  health  seemed  alike  deserting 
her.  Her  "  Hagar  in  the  Wilderness"  was  finished,  and 
she  commenced  drawing  another,  but  lacked  the  energy  to 
finish  it. 

It  was  an  unnatural  life  for  Georgia — the  once  wild, 
fiery,  spirited  Georgia,  and  it  was  probably  a  year  or  two, 
of  such  existence,  would  have  found  her  in  a  lunatic  asylum 
or  in  her  grave,  had  not  an  unlooked-for  discovery  given  a 
new  spring  to  her  dormant  energies. 

Nearly  half  a  year  had  now  elapsed  since  that  sorrowful 
night  when  she  had  fled  from  home — six  of  the  darkest 
months  in  all  Georgia's  life.  For  the  first  four  she  had 
heard  no  news  of  any  of  those  she  bad  left,  not  even  of  him 
who,  sleeping  or  waking,  was  ever  uppermost  in  her 
thoughts.  But  one  morning,  at  breakfast,  Mr.  Leonard 
had  read  aloud  that  our  "  gifted  young  follow-citizen,  Mr. 
Richmond  Wildair,  had  returned  from  abroad,  and  having 
re-entered  the  political  world,  which  he  was  so  well  fitted 
to  adorn,  b%d  be<^n  elected  to  the  legislature,  where  he  had 


I'll, 


too 


FOVND    AND    LOST. 


'% 


mil 


"  !i 


already  distinguished  himself  as  a  statesman  of  extraordi 
nary  merit  and  profound  wisdom,  notwithstanding  his 
extreme  youth."  Then  there  was  another  brief  paragraph, 
in  which  a  mysterious  allusion  was  made  to  some  dark, 
domestic  calamity  that  had  befallen  the  young  statesman  ; 
but  before  Mr.  Leonard  could  finish  it  he  was  startled  to  see 
the  governess  make  an  effort  to  rise  from  her  seat  and  fall 
heavily  back  in  her  chair.  Then  there  was  a  cry  that  Misa 
Randall  was  fainting,  and  a  glass  of  water  was  held  to  her 
lips,  and  when,  in  a  moment,  she  was  her  own  calm,  cold 
eelf  again,  she  arose  and  hastily  left  the  room. 

But  from  that  day  Georgia  made  a  point  every  morning 
with  feverish  interest,  to  read  the  political  papers  in  search 
of  that  one  loved  name.  And  in  every  one  of  them  it  con< 
tinually  met  her  eye,  lauded  to  the  skies  by  his  friends  and 
followers,  and  loaded  with  the  fiercest  abuse  by  his  enemi«6. 
There  were  long,  eloquent  speeches  of  his,  glowing,  fiery, 
living,  impassioned  bursts  of  eloquence,  that  sent  a  thrill  to 
the  heart  of  all  who  heard  him,  and  swept  away  all  obstacles 
before  the  force  of  its  own  matohless  logic. 

A  great  question  was  then  in  agitation,  and  the  young 
orator,  as  the  champion  of  humanity  and  equal  rights,  flung 
himself  into  the  thickest  of  the  political  melee  and  was  soon 
the  reigning  demigod  of  his  party.  It  was  well  known  he 
was  soon  to  be  sent  aij  a  Representative  to  Congress,  and 
the  knowing  ones  predicted  for  him  the  highest  honors  the 
political  strife  could  yield — perhaps  at  some  future  day  the 
Presidency  of  the  United  States.  His  name  and  fame  were 
already  resounding  through  the  land,  and  morning,  noon, 
and  night,  Mr.  Leonard,  who  was  the  fiercest  of  politician!, 
was  talking  and  raving  of  the  matohless  talents  of  this 
riiiDg  star. 


I; 


li'i 


'■  I 


FOUJ^     iN^    LOST. 


aoi 


i^nd  Qeorgia,  how  did  sh»  listen  to  all  this.  All  sh«  had 
hitherto  endared  seemed  nothing  in  comparison  to  the 
anguish  she  felt  in  his  evident  ntter  forgetfnlness  of  her. 
All  the  pride,  and  triumph,  and  exultation,  she  would  hav* 
felt  in  his  success  was  swallowed  up  in  the  misery  of  know- 
ing she  was  forgotten — as  completely  forgotten  as  if  she 
had  never  existed.  And  oh,  the  humiliation  slic  felt,  when 
in  the  papers  of  the  opposition  party,  she  saw  herself  drag- 
ged in  as  a  slur,  a  disgrace,  in  his  private  life.  The  sneer- 
ing insinuations  that  the  wife  of  Richmond  Wildair  had 
deserted  him — had  eloped — had  been  driven  from  home  by 
his  ill-treatment ;  tJiese  were  worse  to  her  than  death.  She 
ooald  almost  fancy  his  cursing  her  in  the  bitterness  of  his 
heart  when  his  eyes  would  fall  on  this,  for  having  disgraced 
him  as  she  had  done. 

On  this  morning,  as  she  stood  on  the  veranda,  with  a 
paper  in  her  hand  containing  an  unusually  brilliant  speech  of 
the  gifted  young  statesman,  her  thoughts  wandering  to  the 
days  long  past  when  she  had  first  known  him.  Miss  Maggie 
came  dancing  out  with  sparkling  eyes,  and  eagerly  accosted 
her. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Randall  I  only  think  !  papa  is  going  to  give 
a  splendid  dinner-party,  and  going  to  have  lots  of  these 
political  big-wigs  here.  You  know,  I  suppose,  that  they, 
or  rather  that  Mr.  Wildair,  has  gained  that  horrid  question 
about  something  or  other  the  papers  ha'^e  been  making  such 
a  time  about  ?" 

"  Yes,"  murmured  the  white  lips,  faintly. 

**Well,  papa's  been  so  dreadfully  tickled  abont  it, 
though  why  I  can't  see,  that  he  is  going  to  give  this  dinner- 
party, and  have  lots  of  those  great  guns  at  it,  and  at  their 


« 


t09 


FOUND    AND    LOST. 


I   ' 


I 


si    : 


bead  Mr.  Wildair  himself,  the  greatest  gun  of  the  lot.  Only 
think  of  that  !'* 

Georgia  had  averted  her  head,  and  Miss  Maggie  did  not 
sec  the  deadly  paleness  that  overspread  her  face,  blanching 
even  her  very  lips,  at  the  words.  There  was  no  reply,  and 
shaking  back  her  curls  coquettishly,  that  young  lady  went 
on  : 

"  I'm  just  dying  to  see  Mr.  Wildair,  you  know,  every- 
body is  making  such  a  fuss  about  him  ;  and  I  do  like 
famous  men,  of  all  things.  They  say  he  is  young  and 
handsome,  but  whether  he  is  married  or  not  I  never  can 
rightly  discover  ;  some  of  the  papers  say  he  was,  and  that 
he  didn't  treat  his  wife  well,  and  Mr.  Brown  from  New 
York,  who  was  here  yesterday,  says  she  committed  suicide 
— isn't  that  dreadful  ?  But  I  don't  care  ;  I'm  bound  to  set 
my  cap  for  him,  and  I  guess  jTcan  manage  to  get  along 
with  him.  I  should  like  to  see  the  man  would  make  me 
commit  suicide,  that's  all  I  But  it  may  not  be  true,  you 
know  ;  these  horrid  papers  tell  the  most  shocking  fibs 
about  any  one  they  don't  like.  I  wish  Dick  Curtis  were 
here  ;  he  knows  all  about  him,  I've  heard,  but  he  hasn't 
called  for  ever  so  many  ages.  Maybe  I  won't  blow  him  up 
when  I  see  him,  and  then  I'll  pardon  him  on  condition  that 
be  tells  me  all  about  Mr.  Wildair.  He  is  going  to  be  a 
senator  one  of  these  days,  and  a  governor,  and  a  president, 
and  an  ambassador,  and  ever  so  many  other  nice  things, 
and  there  is  nothing  I  would  like  better  than  being  Madame 
L'Ambassadrice,  and  shining  in  foreign  courts,  though  I  am 
the  daughter  of  a  red-hot  republican.  Ha !  ha  I  don't  I 
know  how  to  build  castles  in  Spain,  Miss  Randall  ?  Poor 
dear  Signer  Popkins  !  what  would  he  say  if  he  heard  me  ?" 

All  this  time  Georgia  had  been  standing  as  still  and 


FOUND    AND    108T. 


aoa 


rigid,  and  coldly  white  as  moLumcntal  marble,  heariug  as 
one  hears  not  this  tirade,  which  Miss  M&ggie  delivered 
while  dancing  up  and  down  the  veranda  like  a  living  whirli* 
gig,  t  D  full  of  spirits  to  be  still  for  an  instant.  All 
Georgia  heard  or  realized  of  it  was  that  Richmond  was 
coming  here — here  I  under  the  same  roof  with  herself. 
Her  brain  was  giddy  ;  a  wild  impulse  came  over  her  to  fly, 
fly  far  away,  to  bury  herself  in  the  depths  of  the  forest, 
where  he  could  never  find  her  or  hear  her  name  again. 

Miss  Maggie,  having  waited  in  vain  for  some  remark 
from  the  governess,  was  turning  away,  with  a  muttered 
"  How  tiresome  1"  when  Georgia  laid  her  hand  on  her  arm, 
and  with  a  face  that  startled  her  companion,  asked  : 

"  When — when  do  they  come  ?' 

*'  Who  ?  Dear  me,  Miss  Randall,  don't  look  so  ghastly! 
I  declare  you're  enough  to  scare  a  person  into  fits." 

"  Those — those — gentlemen." 

"  Oh,  the  dinner-party,  Thursday  week.  Papa's  wait- 
ing till  Mr.  Wildair  comes  from  Washington." 

Georgia  turned  her  face  away  and  covered  her  eyes  with 
her  hand,  with  a  face  so  agitated,  that  Maggie's  eyes 
opened  with  a  look  of  intense  curiosity. 

"  Why,  Miss  Randall,  you  are  so  queer  1  What  on  eartk 
makes  you  look  so  ?  Did  you  know  Mr.  Wildair,  or  any 
of  them?-' 

With  a  gesture  of  desperation,  Georgia  raised  her  head, 
and  then,  through  all  the  storm  of  conflicting  feelings 
within,  came  the  thought  that  her  conduct  might  excite  sus- 
picion, and,  without  looking  round,  she  said  huskily  : 

"  I  do  not  feel  well,  and  I  do  not  like  strangers — that  if 
tU.    Don't  mind  me — it  is  nothing." 

"  Why,  what  harm  can  strangers  do  you  ?   I  never  saw 


% 


•  II 


iin 


'     )i 


i      \ 


FOUND    AND    LOST. 

any  one  like  you  in  my  life,  Mise  Randall.  W(/'jldn*t  y<Ni 
like  to  see  Mr.  Wildair?  I'm  sure  yuii  seem  fond  enough  of 
reading  about  him.  Papa  told  me  to  persuade  yon  to  joia 
us  at  dinner  that  day." 

"  No  !  no  !  no  !  Not  for  ten  thousand  worlds  I"  cried 
Georgia,  wildly.  Then,  seeing  her  companion  recoil  and 
look  upon  her  with  evident  alarm,  she  turned  hastily  away, 
and  sought  refuge  in  the  school-room. 

Miss  Maggie  looked  after  her  in  comical  bewilderment 
for  a  moment,  and  then  setting  it  down  to  "  oddity,"  she 
danced  off  to  practice  "  Casta  Diva,"  preparatory  to  taking 
Mr.  Wildair's  heart  by  storm  singing  it. 

"  I  do  hope  he  isn't  married,"  thought  Maggie,  dropping 
on  the  piano  stool,  and  commencing  with  a  terrific  prepara- 
tory bang  ;  *'  he  is  so  clever  and  such  a  catch  I  My  ! 
wouldn't  Felice  be  mad  I'* 

All  the  next  week  Miss  Randall  was  more  of  a  puzzle  to 
the  Leonards  than  ever  before.  Her  moods  were  so  change- 
able, so  variable,  so  eccentric,  that  it  was  not  strange  that 
she  startled  them.  Mrs.  Leonard  declared  she  was  hysteri- 
cal, or  in  the  first  stages  of  a  brain  fever ;  Miss  Felice 
pooh-poohed  the  notion,  and  said  it  was  only  the  eccentri- 
city of  genius,  for  Mr.  Randall  had  said  she  was  a  genius, 
and  he  was  infallible  ;  while  Miss  Maggie  differed  from 
both,  and  set  it  down  to  "  oddity."  Fortunately,  however, 
for  Georgia,  the  whole  house  was  in  such  an  uproar  of 
preparation,  and  new  furnishing  and  cooking,  and  there  was 
such  distracting  running  up  and  clown  stairs  from  day-dawn 
till  midnight,  and  the  house  was  so  overrun  with  milliners 
and  dressmakers,  and  they  were  all  so  absorbed  in  thoM 
mysteries  of  flounces,  and  silks,  and  flowers,  and  laoet 


■fe. ,  ■ 


FOUND    AND    LOST. 


sot 


t 


wherein  the  female  heart  delighteth,  that  she  wa&  left  pretty 
maoh  to  her  own  devices,  and  seldom  ever  clisturbed. 

At  last  the  eventful  day  arrived.  All  the  invitations 
had  been  accepted,  and  Mr.  Wildair,  and  Mr.  Cams,  and 
Mr.  Randal],  and  all  the  rest  were  to  come. 

Through  that  whole  day  Georgia  had  seemed  like  one 
delirioas.  There  was  a  blazing  fire  in  her  eye,  and  two 
dark  crimson  spots,  all  unusual  there,  burning  on  either 
cheek,  bespeaking  the  consuming  fever  within.  How  she 
ever  got  through  her  school  duties  she  could  not  tell,  but 
evening  came  at  last,  and  with  it  Georgia's  excitement  rose 
to  a  pitch  not  to  be  endured.  She  could  not  stay  there  and 
hear  them,  perhaps  see  them  enter.  She  felt  sure,  even 
amid  thousands,  she  would  distinguish  his  step,  hear  hia 
voice  ;  and  who  knew  what  desperate  act  it  might  drive 
her  to  commit — perhaps  to  burst  into  the  room,  and  in  the 
presence  of  all  to  fall  at  his  feet  and  sue  for  pardon. 

Unable  to  sit  still,  with  wild  gusts  of  conflicting  passions 
sweeping  through  her  soul,  she  seized  her  hat  and  mantle 
and  sought  that  panacea  for  her  "  mind  deceased,"  a  long, 
rapid,  breathless  walk. 

It  was  a  delightful  May  evening,  soft,  and  warm,  and 
genial  as  in  Jane.  There  was  an  air  of  repose  and  deep 
stillness  aronnd ;  one  solitary  star  hung  trembling  in  the 
sky,  and  brought  to  her  mind  the  nights  long  past,  when 
she  had  sat  at  her  little  chamber  window,  and  watched  them 
shining  in  their  tremulous  beauty  far  above  her.  Every- 
thing seemed  at  peace  bat  herself,  and  in  her  stormy  heart 
was  the  Angel  of  Peace  ever  to  take  up  his  abode  ? 

On,  and  on,  and  on  she  walked.  It  was  strange  the 
charm  rapid  walking  had  to  soothe  her  wildest  moods. 
Stor  after  star  shone  oat  in  the  blue,  cloudless  sky,  and  the 


II 


I 


it 
I 


i    I 


lip 


806 


FOUND    AND    LOST. 


lii 


•I 


last  ray  of  daylight  had  faded  away  before  she  thought  of 
turning.     Taking  off  her  hat,  and  flinging  back  her  thick, 
dark  hair,  that  the  cool  breeze  might  fan  her  fevered  brow 
flhe  set  out  at  a  more  moderate  pace  for  home. 

It  was  a  lonesome,  unfrequented  road  especially  after 
night.  There  was  another,  new  road,  which  had  of  late 
been  made  the  public  throughfare,  and  this  one  was  al- 
most entirely  deserted  ;  therefore,  Georgia  was  somewhat 
surprised  to  see  a  man  approaching  her  at  a  rapid  pace. 
He  was  a  gentleman,  too,  and  young  and  graceful — she  saw 
that  at  a  glance,  but  in  the  dim  starlight  she  could  not  dis« 
tinguish  his  features,  shaded  as  they  were  by  a  broad-leafed 
hat.     He  stopped  as  he  approached  her,  and  hurriedly  said  : 

**  Can  yon  tell  me,  madam,  if  this  road  leads  to  the 
Widow  O'Neirs  ?" 

That  voice  !  it  sent  a  thrill  to  Georgia's  inmost  heart, 
as,  with  her  eyes  riveted  on  his  face,  she  mechanically 
replied  : 

**  Yes  ;  a  little  farther  np  there  is  a  gate.  Go  throngh, 
and  the  road  will  bring  yon  to  it.*' 

"  Thank  you  ;  I  shall  take  a  shorter  way,'*  said  the 
stranger,  lifting  his  hat  courteously,  and  turning  rapidly 
away,  but  not  before  she  had  recognized  the  pale,  handsome 
face  and  beautiful,  dark  eyes  of  Charley  Wildair. 

For  an  instant  she  stood,  unable  to  speak.  She  saw  him 
place  one  hand  on  the  fence,  leap  lightly  over,  and  disap- 
pear, then,  with  a  sort  of  cry,  she  started  after  him.  But 
ere  she  had  taken  a  dozen  steps  some  inward  feeling  arrest- 
ed her,  and  she  stopped.  What  would  he  think  of  her 
following  him  thus  ?  He  was  no  longer  the  boy  Charley, 
any  More  than  she  was  the  child  Georgia.  Might  he  not 
think  prying  curioeity  had  sent  her  after  him  ?    Would  he 


FOUND    AND    LOST. 


107 


Of 
Ick, 


be  disposed  to  renew  the  aoquaintauce  ?  Pcthaps,  too,  he 
had  rucugnized  her,  as  she  had  him,  and  gave  no  sign. 
The  Htrange  revelation  of  Richmond  gave  her  a  sort  of 
dread  of  him,  and  after  a  moment's  irresolution,  she  turned 
and  walked  hack. 

The  whole  house  was  one  blaze  of  light  when  she 
reached  it.  On  the  dining-room  windows  were  cast  many 
shadows.  Which  among  them  was  hisf  Did  cither 
brother  dream  he  was  so  near  the  other  ?  Did  Richmond 
dream  she  was  so  near  him,  and  yet  so  far  off  ?  She  could 
not  enter  the  house  ;  her  heart  was  throbbing  so  loudly 
that  she  grew  faint  and  sick,  and  she  staggered  to  a  sort  of 
Bummer-house,  thick  with  clustering  hop-vines,  and  sank 
down  on  a  rustic  bench,  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

How  long  she  had  sat  there  alone  in  her  trouble,  and 
yet  so  near  him  who  had  vowed  to  *'  cherish  "  her  through 
all  her  trials  until  death,  she  couM  not  tell.  Foot-steps 
coming  down  the  graveled  walk  startled  her.  The  odor 
of  cigars  came  borne  on  the  breeze,  and  then,  with  a  start 
and  a  shock  she  recognized  the  voice  of  Dick  Curtis  say* 
ing,  with  a  laugh  : 

"  I  wonder  if  Ringlets  has  got  through  that  appalling 
howl  on  that  instrument  of  torture,  the  piano,  she  was  com- 
mencing  when  we  beat  a  retreat  ?  It's  a  mercy  I  escaped, 
or  I  should  have  gone  stark  staring  mad  before  the  end." 

"  Come,  now,  Curtis,  you're  too  severe,"  said  a  laugh- 
ing voice,  which  Georgia  recognized  as  Mr.  Randall's. 
*'  Ringlets,  as  you  are  pleased  to  denominate  Miss  Felloe, 
is  only  performing  a  duty  every  young  lady  considers  she 
ows  to  society  nowadays,  deateuing  her  hearers  by  those 
IremendDUA  crashes  and  flourishes,  and  crossing  her  handfl, 


FOUND    AND    LOBT. 


i< 


and  flying  from  one  end  of  the  piano  to  the  other  with  ili» 
lying  rapidity." 

"  And  it's  a  duty  they  never  neglect,  TU  say  that  for 
them/'  said  Mr.  Curtis.  "  And  that's  what  they  call  fash- 
ionahle  music,  my  friend  ?  Oh,  for  the  good  old  days, 
when  girls  weren't  ashamed  to  sing  *  Auld  Robin  Gray ' 
and  the  *  Bonnie  Horse  of  Airlie.'  The  world's  degener- 
ating every  day.  Thank  the  gods,  we  have  escaped  the  in* 
fliction,  anyhow.  Here's  a  seat ;  suppose  we  sit  down,  and, 
with  our  soul  in  slippors,  take  the  world  easy.  Poor  Wil- 
dair !  he's  in  for  being  martyrized  this  evening." 

"  So  much  for  being  a  lion,"  said  Mr.  Randall.  "  If  he 
will  persist  in  being  a  burning  and  shining  light,  he  must 
expect  to  pay  the  penalty." 

"  Miss  Maggie— little  blue  eyes,  you  know — has  made  a 
dead  set  at  him.     Did  you  observe  ?"  said  Mr.  Curtis. 

**  Yes ;  but  I  can't  say  she  has  met  with  much  success, 
•o  far.  If  report  says  true,  she  is  not  the  only  young  lady 
who  has  tried  that  game  of  late." 

"  Poor  Rich  1"  said  Curtis.  « If  they  knew  but  all,  they 
would  find  how  useless  it  was  doing  any  thing  of  the  sort. 
I  suppose  you  heard  of  that  sad  affair  that  happened  last 
winter?" 

Oh,  what  would  not  Georgia  have  given  to  be  a  thou- 
land  miles  off  at  that  moment  I  She  writhed  where  she 
lay  ;  it  was  like  tearing  half-healed  wounds  violently  open 
to  sit  there  and  listen  to  this.  But  move  she  could  not 
without  discovering  herself  to  Curtis,  so  she  was  forced  to 
remain  where  she  was,  and  hear  all. 

«No,  I  can't  say  as  I  have,"  said  Mr.  Randall,  in  a  tone 
of  interw^    **  There  are  so  many  rumors  afloat  about  hii 


I 


FOUND    AND   LOST, 

wife — suppose  you  allude  to  that — but  one  cannot  even  tell 
for  certain  whether  he  was  ever  married  or  not." 

"  Ohy  he  was ;  no  mistake  about  it/'  said  Curtis  ;  '*  I  was 
present — was  groomsman,  in  fact.  Such  a  magnificent 
creature  as  she  was.  I  never  saw  a  girl  so  splendid  before 
or  since  I  beautiful  as  the  dream  of  an  opium-eater,  with  a 
pair  of  eyes  that  would  have  made  the  fortune  of  half  a 
dozen  ordinary  women.  By  George  I  that  girl  ought  to 
have  been  an  empress." 

"  Indeed !  I  should  think  Wildair  would  be  fastidious 
in  the  choice  of  a  wife.  How  came  they  to  separate  in  so 
short  a  time  ?    Did  she  not  love  him  ?" 

"  Tes,  with  her  whole  heart  and  soul ;  in  fact,  I  believe, 
she  loved  nothing  in  earth  or  heaven  but  him,  but  then  that 
is  nothing  strange,  for  Richmond  is  a  glorious  fellow,  and 
no  mistake !  But  you  see,  she  was  as  poor  as  Job,  and 
proud  as  Lucifer,  with  a  high  spirit  thai  would  dare  and 
defy  the  Ancient  Henry  himself— one  of  that  kind  of  people 
who  will  die  sooner  than  yield  an  inch.  Well,  it  appears 
his  mother  did  not  like  the  match,  and  persisted  in  snubbing 
her,  and  making  little  of  her  before  folks  and  behind  backs, 
in  fact,  treated  her  shamefully,  until  she  drove  the  poor 
girl  to  the  verge  of  madness." 

**  And  Wildair  allowed  her  to  do  this  ?"  said  Randall, 
indignantly. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  how  it  was,  but  he  was  blind  to 
all ;  but  I  think  the  truth  of  the  matter  is  they  deceived 
him,  and  only  did  it  when  he  was  absent.  There  was  a 
cousin  there,  a  little  female  fiend,  whom  I  should  admire  to 
be  putting  in  the  pillory,  who  tried  every  m^ans  in  her 
power  to  make  him  jealous,  and  succeeded  ;  and  yon  don't 
need  Uk  be  told  a  jealous  man  will  stop  at  nothing." 


I 


r^' 


jii 


SIO 


FOUND   AND   LOST. 


"Poor  girl  1  poor  Wildair  I    What  an  iDfernal  shamei'* 

"  Wasn't  it  I  You  see,  he  had  invited  a  party  to  hit 
country-seat — Richmond  Hall  they  called  it — and  I  was 
there  among  the  rest.  Poor  Mrs.  Wildair  had  a  wretched 
life  of  it,  with  them  all  set  against  her.  If  she  had  been 
one  of  your  meek,  spiritless  little  creatures,  she  would  have 
drooped,  and  sunk  under  it,  and  died  perhaps  of  a  broken 
heart,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing  ;  or  if  she  had  been  a  dull, 
spiritless  young  woman,  she  would  have  snapped  her  fingers 
in  their  faces,  and  kept  on,  never  minding.  Unfortunately, 
she  was  neither,  but  a  sensitive,  high-spirited  girl,  whom 
every  slight  wounds  to  the  quick,  and  you  would  hardly 
believe  me  if  I  were  to  tell  you  the  change  one  short  week 
made  in  her — you  would  hardly  have  known  her  for  the 
same  person.  What  with  her  mother-in-law's  insults,  her 
cousin-in-law's  sneers,  her  husband's  jealousy  and  angry 
reproaches,  and  the  neglects  and  slights  of  most  of  the 
company,  a  daily  stretch  on  the  rack  would  have  been  a 
bed  of  roses  to  it." 

"  Shameful !  atrocious  !"  exclaimed  Randall,  impetu- 
ously. "  How  could  Wildair  have  the  heart  to  treat  her 
so  ?    He  couldn't  have  cared  much  aboat  her." 

"  Didn't  he,  indeed  !  That's  all  you  know  about  it.  If 
ever  there  was  a  man  loved  his  own  wife,  that  man  was 
Rich  Wildair ;  tut  when  a  man  is  jealous,  you  know,  he 
becomes  partially  insane,  and  allowances  must  be  made  foi 
him.  One  night,  this  little  vixen  of  a  cousin  I  mentioned 
somewhere  before,  began  taunting  Mrs.  Wildair  about  her 
mother,  telling  her  she  was  no  better  than  she  ought  to  be, 
and  calling  herself  all  sorts  of  scandalous  names — one  of 
ths  servants  accidentally  heard  her — until  she  maddened  the 
poor  girl  so  tb^t,  in  a  fit  of  passion,  she  caught  her  and 


FOUND    AND    LOST. 


811 


hurled  her  from  her,  with  a  shriek  I  will  never  forget  to 
■ly  dying  day.  Of  course,  there  was  the  old — what's  his 
name — to  pay,  immediately  ;  but  Freddy's  injuries  did  not 
prove  half  so  severe  as  she  deserved,  and  a  piece  of  court- 
plaster  did  her  business  beautifully  for  her.  But  you  never 
saw  any  one  in  such  a  rage  as  AVildair  was  about  it,  know- 
ing it  would  be  all  over  town  directly.  Three  or  four  of 
the  mean  crowd  he  had  invited  went  off,  declaring  his  wife 
was  a  lunatic,  and  that  they  were  afraid  to  stay  in  the  same 
house  with  her.  Wasn't  that  pretty  treatment,  after  his 
hospitality  ?" 

"  It's  the  way  of  the  world,  mon  amV^ 

"  And  a  very  mean  way  it  is.  Well,  Wildair  went  lo 
his  wife  and  said  all  sorts  of  cutting  things  to  her,  was  as 
sharp  as  a  bottle  of  cayenne  pepper,  in  fact,  and  wound  up 
by  telling  her  he  was  going  to  apply  for  a  divorce,  which 
he  had  no  more  notion  of  doing  than  I  have  of  proposing 
to  one  of  the  Misses  Leonard  to-morrow.  She  believed 
him,  though,  and,  driven  to  despair  by  the  whole  of  them, 
made  a  moonlight  flitting  of  it,  and  from  that  day  to  this 
Richmond  Wildair  has  never  seen  or  heard  of  his  wife." 

"  Poor  thing  1  it  was  a  hard  fate.  What  do  you  siip- 
pose  has  become  of  her  ?" 

**  Heaven  knows  !  She  left  %  note  saying  she  had  gone 
ftnd  would  never  disgrace  him  more — these  were  her  words 
— aad  bidding  him  an  eternal  farewell.  Wildair  nearly 
went  crazy  ;  he  was  mad,  I  firmly  believe,  for  awhile,  and 
it  was  as  much  as  any  one's  life  was  worth  to  go  near  him. 
He  searched  everywhere,  offered  enormous  rewards  for  the 
least  trace  of  her,  did  everything  man  could  do,  in  a  word, 
to  find  her  again  ;  but  it  was  of  no  use  no  one  had  seen  M 
knew  anything  of  her." 


;  I 


I 


I' . 


; 
t 


li 


(1! 


!: 


I 


i 


tlf 


FOU^^    AND    LOST. 


**  Could  she  have  destroyed  herself  ?" 

'Just  as  likely  as  not;  she  was  the  sort  jf  desperate 
person  likely  to  do  it,  and  she  had  no  fear  of  death,  or 
eternity,  or  anything  that  way.  Well,  he  was  frantic  when 
he  found  she  was  lost  forever,  and  would  have  given  even 
3very  cent  he  was  worth  in  the  world  for  the  least  tidings 
of  her,  dead  or  alive,  but  it  was  all  a  waste  of  ammunition  ; 
and,  maddened  and  despairing,  he  fled  from  the  scene  of 
disaster,  sprang  on  board  a  steamship  bound  for  Europe, 
and  was  off.  But  he  couldn't  stay  away  ;  he  couldn't  rest 
anywhere,  so  he  came  back,  and  plunged  headlong  into  the 
giddy  maelstrom  of  politics,  and  became  the  man  of  the 
people — the  Demosthenes  ;  the  magnificent  orator  whose 
lips,  to  quote  the  Political  Thunderholty  *  have  been  touched 
with  coals  of  living  fire ;'  a  pleasant  simile,  I  should  think. 
Poor  Rich !  they  don't  know  the  crucible  of  suffering  from 
which  this  fiery,  impassioned  eloquence  has  sprung.  Ambi- 
tion  will  be  to  him  for  the  rest  of  his  mortal  life,  wife,  and 
family,  and  home,  for  he  is  not  the  man  to  dream  for  a 
second  of  ever  marrying  again." 

"A  sad  story!  And  yet  he  can  smile,  and  jest,  and 
talk  gayly,  as  I  heard  him  half  an  hour  ago,  when  he  waf 
the  very  life  and  soul  of  the  company." 

"  He  must — it  is  expected  of  him  ;  a  man  of  the  people 
must  please  the  people  ;  and  besides,  he  does  it  to  drown 
thought ;  he  tries  to  forget  for  a  time  the  gnawing  remorse 
that,  if  indulged,  wotfld  drive  him  mad.  He  lives  two  lives 
— the  inward  and  outward — and  both  as  essentially  differ- 
ent as  day  from  night.  He  believes  himself  the  murderer 
of  his  wife  ;  in  fact,  an  old  lady  who  brought  her  up — 
for  the  girl  was  an  orphan — told  him  so,  and  would  not 
look  at  him  or  let  him  in  her  house.     His  mother,  touched 


FOUJND    AND    LOMT 


sia 


with  remorse,  confessed  what  she  had  done,  and  thus  he 
learned  all  his  wife  had  so  silently  suffered.  It  was  enough 
to  drive  a  more  sober  man  insane,  and  that's  the  truth. 
Ah  !  there  was  more  than  one  sad  heart  after  her  when  she 
went.  Poor  little  £mily  Murray  1  the  nicest,  and  best,  and 
prettiest  girl  from  here  to  sundown,  was  nearly  broken- 
hearted. I  offered  her  my  own  hand  and  fortune,  though 
I  didn't  happen  to  have  such  an  article  about  me,  and  she 
gave  me  my  dismissal  on  the  spot.  Heigho  1  Bumfield's 
done  for  poor  old  Rich  and  me." 

"  What !  £urnfield,  did  you  say  ?"  ezolaimed  Randall, 
with  a  start. 

'*Tes,  Burnfield.  You  have  no  objections  to  it,  I 
hope  ?" 

"  You — did  you  know— did  you  ever  happen  to  hear  of 
a  widow  and  a  little  girl  by  the  name  of  Darrell  there  V* 
said  Mr.  Randall,  in  an  agitated  voice. 

"  Well,  I  should  think  I  did — rather  \"  said  Curtis  em- 
phatically. "  The  widow  died  one  night,  and  the  little  girl 
was  brought  up  by  one  Miss  Jerusha  Skamp  of  severe 
memory,  and  it's  of  her  I  have  been  talking  for  the  last 
half-hour,  if  you  mean  Georgia  Darrell." 

**  What !"  exclaimed  Randall,  wildly,  as  he  sprang  to 
his  feet.  "  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  Georgia  Darrell 
grew  up  in  Bumfield,  and  was  the  wretched  wife  of  Rich- 
mond Wildair?" 

"  Indeed  I  do,"  replied  Curtis,  with  increasing  emphasis. 
"  Why,  what  the  dickens  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  What 
does  all  this  mean  ?" 

"  Mean  1    Oh,  man  !    man  -.   Gkorgia  Darrell  wat  aj 

14 


'i^ 


!1 


!  1 


U4 


CHAliLET  a    CBIMB, 


li  1 


i! 


CHAPTER  XXL 


OKABLBT^B  ORIMB. 


'*  ^  the  strong  spirit's  disciplint, 
By  the  fierce  wrong  forgivea, 
By  all  that  wrings  the  heart  of  tia, 
Is  woman  wuu  to  heayen." 


ITH  every  nerve  strained,  every  feeling  wrought 
to  the  highest  pitch  of  excitement,  Georgia  had 
listened  ;  but  at  this  last  moment  the  overstrung 
tension  gave  way,  and,  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life,  she  fainted. 

On  the  wet  grass  where  she  had  fallen  she  still  lay  when 
life  and  memory  came  back.  She  raised  herself  on  her 
elbow  and  looked  wildly  around,  passed  her  hand  across  her 
forehead,  and  tried  to  think.  Gradually  recollection 
returned  ;  one  by  one  the  broken  chains  of  memory  were 
reunited,  and  all  she  had  heard  came  back,  flooding  her  soul 
with  ecstatic  joy.  Beloved  still,  no  longer  a  cast-off  wife, 
and  her  long-lost  brother  Warren  restored  I 

She  remembered  him  now  ;  she  wondered  she  had  not 
done  so  at  first,  for  every  tone  of  his  voice  was  familiar. 
It  was  the  name  that  bad  deceived  her,  and  yet  he  had  hie 
mother'  s  name,  too — Warren  Randall  Darrell.  She  rose 
up,  to  find  herself  stiff  and  cold,  lying  on  the  wet  ground, 
and  her  dress  soaked  with  the  heavy  dew.  The  garden 
was  deserted,  the  house  all  dark,  and  with  an  overpower- 
ing  sense  of  loneliness  she  found  herself  locked  out. 

It  would  not  do  to  disturb  the  family  ;  she  must  wait 


!  ' 


CEABLET*8    ORIMM, 


•U 


till  morning  where  she  was,  so  she  resumed  ner  seat  and 
crouched  down  shivering  with  cold.  The  new-born  joy  in 
her  heart  could  not  keep  her  from  being  chilled  through 
and  through  ;  and  as  the  long  hours  dragged  on,  it  seemed 
to  her  that  never  was  night  so  long  as  that.  Benumbed 
with  cold,  sick,  and  shivering,  she  sank  into  an  uneasy 
tlnmber  at  last,  with  her  head  on  the  hard,  wooden  bench. 

It  was  morning  when  she  awoke.  With  difficulty  she 
arose  to  her  feet,  and  saw  a  servant  with  lazy  step  and 
lack-luster  eyes  come  out  and  approach  the  stables.  As  she 
arose,  she  found  herself  hardly  able  to  walk  from  cold  and 
exposure,  but  she  managed  to  stagger  to  the  door  and  enter 
unobserved.  It  was  well  for  her  she  met  no  one,  as  they 
might  have  taken  her  for  one  newly  risen  from  the  dead — 
for  never  did  eye  rest  on  such  a  deathly  face  as  she  wore 
that  morning.  How  she  reeled  to  her  room  she  did  not 
know  ;  how  she  managed  to  take  off  her  saturated  gar- 
ments and  fling  herself  on  her  bed  she  could  not  tell ;  but 
there  she  was  lying,  weak,  prostrate,  helpless,  and  chilled 
to  the  very  heart. 

As  the  morning  passed  and  she  did  not  appear,  a  ser- 
vant was  sent  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  Georgia  tried 
to  lift  her  head,  but  such  a  feeling  of  deadly  sickness  came 
tver  her  that,  weak  and  blinded,  she  fell  back  on  her  pil- 
low. Every  care  was  taken  of  her,  but  before  night  a  rag- 
mg  fever  had  set  in,  and  with  burning  brow  and  parched 
lips  Georgia  lay  tossing  and  raving  wildly  in  delirmm. 
Alarmed  now,  the  family  physician  was  sent  for,  who  pro- 
nounced it  a  dangerous  attack  of  brain  fever,  from  which 
he  was  extremely  doubtful  she  could  ever  recover. 

For  days  and  days  after  that  Georgia  lay  helpless  aa  a 
9hild,  with  liquid  flame  burning  in  every  vein.    SometioMfl 


'■ 


I. 


1   i 


l\ 


.  V 


'  w 


116 


OUARLET'S    CBIMR 


ill  I' 


11 


iii 


'V 


i 


'if: 


she  raved  and  shrieked  madly  of  Freddy  Richmond,  oalling 
herself  a  marderess,  and  trying  to  spring  from  those  who 
held  her.  Sometimes  she  would  plead  pitifully  with  Rioh< 
mond  and  implore  him  to  forgive  her,  and  she  would  never, 
never  offend  him  again  ;  and  now  she  would  forget  all  the 
past,  and  fancy  herself  talking  to  the  children  in  the 
school-room,  seemingly  with  no  memory  of  anything  but 
the  present. 

It  was  a  golden,  sunshiny  June  morning  when  conscious- 
ness returned,  and  she  opened  her  eyes  to  find  herself  lying 
in  her  own  room,  with  ?  strange  woman  sitting  beside  her. 
Youth,  and  a  naturally  strong  constitution,  had  finally 
triumphed  over  the  disease,  but  she  lay  there  weak  and 
helpless  as  an  infant.  She  had  a  vague,  confused  memory 
of  the  past  few  weeks,  and  she  turned  with  a  helpless,  be- 
wildered look  to  the  nurse. 

«  What  is  it  ?  What  is  the  matter  ?  Have  I  been  ill  V* 
she  asked,  feebly. 

"  Yes,  very  ill ;  but  you  are  better  now,"  said  the  nurse, 
coming  over  and  softly  adjusting  the  pillow. 

"  How — how  long  have  I  been  sick  ?"  she  said,  passing 
her  wasted  hand  across  her  forehead  as  if  to  dispel  a  mist. 

"  Three  weeks,"  was  the  reply. 

"  So  long  !''  said  Georgia,  drearily,  and  still  struggling 
to  recall  something  that  had  escaped  her  memory.  "  Who 
are  you  ?  I  don't  know  you." 

"lam  your  nurse,"  said  the  woman,  smiling.  "Mn. 
Leonard  hired  me  to  take  care  of  you,  and  look  after  thingf 
generally  until  she  came  back." 

"  Came  back  !    Has  she  gone  away,  then  ?" 

«  Oh,  dear,  yes  I  the  whole  family,  children  and  til  | 


CHARLEY 'B    CRIMS. 


917 


they  were  ftfraid  of  the  fever,  although  the  doetor  Mid 
there  was  no  danger." 

"  Where  have  they  gone  ?"  said  Georgia,  faintly. 

"  To  New  York.  It*s  my  opinion  the  young  ladies  wert 
glad  of  any  chance  of  getting  back  to  town,  and  it  was 
they,  particularly  Miss  Felice,  who  insisted  on  leaving. 
Don^t  disturb  yourself  about  them,  my  dear  ;  yon  will  soon 
bo  as  well  as  any  of  them." 

'^  Tell  me,"  said  Georgia,  catching  the  woman's  wrists  in 
her  thin,  transparent  hands,  and  looking  earnestly  in  her 
face  with  the  great  black  eyes  so  sunken  and  melancholy 
now — "  tell  me  if  you  know  whether  a  certain  Mr.  Randall 
who  used  to  come  here  went  with  them  ?  Perhaps  you  hav« 
heard  ?" 

The  woman  shook  her  head. 

"No,  my  dear,  1  have  not.  I  have  heard  of  him, 
though,  often  ;  they  say  he  is  very  clever  and  going  to  be 
married  to  Miss  Felice,  but  I  don't  know  myself.  Don't 
talk  so  much,  Miss  Randall  ;  it  is  not  good  for  you." 

"  One  thing  more,"  said  Georgia.  "  I — I  raved  when  I 
was  out  of  my  mind  ;  will  you  tell  me  what  it  was  I  saidr* 

"  That  would  be  pretty  hard  to  do,"  said  the  nurse, 
■miling  ;  but  then,  seeing  the  look  of  desperate  earnestness 
on  her  patient's  face,  she  added  :  "  Why,  you  know,  my 
dear,  you  talked  a  great  deal  of  nonsense — fever  patienta 
always  do — about  some  one  you  called  Richmond,  and 
Freddy  Richmond — some  gentlemen,  I  expect,"  said  the 
woman,  with  a  meaning  glance  ;  "  and  you  called  yourself 
%  murderess,  and  then  you  kept  begging  some  one  not  to 
be  angry  with  you,  and  you  would  never  do  so  any  more ; 
and  sometimes  yon  would  talk  to  the  children,  and  faney 
yourself  in  the  school-room  with  them.     In  short,  yon  know, 


•3 


W 


-I       ^ 

v\ 


318 


OHARLBT'8    VBIMB, 


you  sftid  all  Borts  of  queer  things  ;  but  that  W9lb  tc  be  ax 
pccted." 

From  that  day  Georgia  rapidly  recovered,  and  m  leii 
than  a  fortnight  was  able  to  get  up  and  nit  for  a  few  hours 
each  day  in  an  easy  chair  by  the  window,  inhaling  the 
fragrant  summer  air.  Her  first  request  was  to  call  for  the 
latest  papers  ;  but  for  some  time  the  doctor  said  she  was 
not  equal  to  the  exertion  of  reading  them,  and,  in  spite  of 
her  passionate  eagerness,  she  had  to  wait. 

To  ask  about  Richmond  she  did  not  dare  ;  but  how 
eagerly  she  scanned  the  first  paper  she  got,  in  search  of  his 
name  !  And  there  she  learned  that  he  had  gone  South  on 
a  summer  ramble,  wandering  about  from  place  to  place 
with  the  strange  restlessness  that  characterized  him. 

It  was  a  blow  to  her  at  first,  but  when  she  came  to  think 
it  over,  she  was  almost  glad  of  it.  Somehow,  she  scarcely 
could  tell  why  she  did  not  wish  to  meet  him  yet  ;  if  ever 
she  returned  to  him,  it  must  be  in  a  way  difi;erent  from 
what  she  had  left.  She  wanted  to  find  her  brother  first ; 
she  had  a  vehement  desire  to  win  wealth  and  fame,  and 
return  to  Richmond  Wildair  as  his  eqnal  in  every  way. 
During  the  long  weary  hours  of  her  convalescence  she  had 
made  up  her  mind  to  go  to  the  city. 

The  monotonous  life  of  the  last  six  months  here  grew 
unendurable  to  her  now  ;  she  would  not  have  taken  un- 
counted wealth  and  consented  to  spend  six  more  like  them. 
Life  at  least  was  not  stagnant  in  the  uproar  and  turmoil  of 
the  city,  and  solitude  is  not  always  a  panacea  f«r  all  sorts 
of  people  in  trouble. 

She  had  money — her  half-year's  salary  had  been  an- 
touched,  and  it  was  no  inconsiderable  sum,  for  Mr.  Leonard 
had  been  as  generous  as  he  was  rich.    She  had  a  vague  ides 


if 


aUARLEY'S    CRIME, 


ni 


lesi 

ours 
the 
the 

was 
te  of 


of  win  \ug  fame  as  an  artist.  She  felt  an  inward  oonrie- 
tion  that  her  "  Hagar  in  the  Wilderness  "  would  create  a 
sensation  if  seen.  She  took  it  out  from  its  canvas  soreeDi 
and  gazed  long  and  earnestly  upon  it. 

It  was  a  wild,  weird,  unearthly  thing,  but  strangely 
beautiful  withal,  and  possessing  a  sort  of  fascination  that 
would  have  chained  vou  before  it  for  hours.  Never  did 
eye  look  on  a  more  gloriously  beautiful  face  than  that  of 
the  pictured  Egyptian  in  its  dark  splendor  and  unutterable 
anguish.  The  posture,  as  she  half-lay,  half -writhed  in  her 
inward  torture,  spoke  of  the  darkest  depth  of  anguish  and 
despair  ;  the  long,  wild,  purplish  black  tresses  streamed 
unbound  in  the  breeze,  and  the  face  that  startled  you  from 
the  canvas  was  white  with  woman's  utmost  woe.  And  the 
eyes  that  caught  and  transfixed  yours,  sending  a  thrill  of 
awe  and  terror  to  most  stoical  heart — those  unfathomable 
eyes  of  midnight  blackness,  where  despairing  love,  fiercest 
anguish,  and  maddest  desperation  seem  struggling  for  mas- 
tery. Oh  !  never  could  any,  but  one  in  the  utmost  depths 
of  despair  herself,  have  painted  eyes  like  these.  Lucifer 
hurled  from  heaven  might  have  cast  back  one  last  look  like 
that,  so  full  of  conflicting  passion,  but  the  superhuman 
agony  shining  and  surmounting  them  all — eyes  that  would 
have  haunted  you  like  a  frightful  nightmare,  long  after  yov 
had  first  beheld  tbem,  eyes  that  would  have  made  yoi 
;  shudder,  and  yet  held  you  spell-bound,  breathless,  riyeted 
to  the  spot. 

All  unknown  to  herself  she  bad  painted  her  own  por- 
trait ;  those  flowing,  lustrous  tresses,  that  dark,  oriental 
face,  those  appalling  eyes,  that  posture  of  utti^r  woe  and 
unspeakable  desolation,  all  were  hers.  The  face  was  almost 
the  f  ac-simile  of  the  one  that  had  onoe  so  startled  Richmond 


p 


% 

- 1 

'  i 


CUAliLEY'lS    CRIME. 


Wildair  tliat  morning  on  thu  Beji-sbore,  only  tht  paMiooAto, 
tortured  form  was  wauling. 

At  a  little  distanoc  lay  the  boy  Ishmael,  with  all  bis 
mother's  dark  beauty  in  his  face,  but  so  serenely  oalm  and 
ekildishly  peaoeful  that  the  contrast  was  all  the  more  start- 
ling. 

It  was  a  wonderful  picture,  and  no  wonder  that  Geor- 
gia's eyes  fired  up,  and  her  color  came  and  went  and  her 
ooanteaanoe  glowed  with  power,  and  triumph  and  inspira- 
tion as  she  gazed. 

"It  must  succeed — it  will  succeed — it  shall  succeed,** 
she  vehemently  exclaimed.  "  There  has  been  a  prize  offered 
by  the  Acadamy  of  Art  for  the  best  painting  from  a  native 
artist,  and  mine  shall  go  with  the  rest.  And  if  it  suc- 
ceeds— ** 

She  caught  her  breath,  and  her  whole  face  for  an  instant 
grew  radiant  with  the  picture  she  conjured  up  of  the  glory 
and  fame  that  would  be  iters. 

"  Mr.  Leonard  shall  take  it  for  me  ;  he  has  always  been 
my  friend,  and  the  artist's  name  shall  be  unknown  until  the 
decision  is  announced.  Yes,  it  shall  bo  so ;  the  paper  sayi 
that  all  pictures  for  the  prize  must  be  delivered  in  three 
days  from  this,  as  the  decision  shall  be  given  and  the  prize 
awarded  in  a  fortnight.    Tes,  I  will  go  at  once.** 

And  with  her  characteristic  impulsive  rapidity,  Geor- 
gia made  her  preparations,  and  that  very  afternoon  bade 
farewell  to  the  house  where  the  last  six  wretched  months 
had  been  spent,  and  took  the  cars  for  New  York. 

Arrived  there,  her  first  destination  was  the  widow's, 
where  she  had  stopped  before,  and  early  next  morning  she 
•et  out  for  the  hotel  where  the  Leonards  were  stopping. 

Mr.  Leonard  and  his  family  were  still  there,  aud  seemed 


( 

i  ; 


1' 


CHABLBT'S    {jRlUlE. 


m 


quit«  overjoyed  to  seo  her.  It  waa  fortunate,  Mr^.  Leonard 
said,  she  bad  oome  when  she  did,  for  early  in  the  next 
month  she,  and  Mr.  Leonard,  and  the  girls  woro  off  for 
Cape  May  for  a  little  tossing  about  in  the  surf,  and  would 
not  return  until  quite  late  in  the  season,  as,  having  been 
cooped  up  so  long,  they  were  determined  to  raako  the  most 
of  their  holiday  now.  The  children  were  to  go  back,  and 
she,  Miss  Randall,  was  expected  to  go  back  with  theui,  and 
averseo  the  household  generally  in  their  absence. 

Great  was  the  worthy  lady's  surprise  when  Georgia 
quietly  and  firmly  declined.  At  first  she  was  disposed  to 
stand  upon  her  dignity  and  bo  offended,  but  when  Mr.  Leon- 
ard declared  emphatically  W\m  Randall  was  right,  that  she 
was  by  no  means  strong  enough  to  resume  the  labor  of 
teaching,  that  she  needed  rest  and  relaxation  and  amuse- 
ment, and  that  the  city,  among  her  friends,  was  for  the 
present  decidedly  the  best  place  for  her,  she  cooled  down, 
and  consented  to  listen  to  reason. 

"  And  now,  how  are  all  your  friends,  Miss  Leonard  ?" 
said  Georgia,  with  a  smile,  yet  with  a  sudden  throbbing  at 
her  heart  at  the  hope  of  hearing  something  of  her  brother. 

"  All  well  enough  when  we  saw  them  last,"  said  Misi 
Felice,  in  a  dreary  tone  ;  "  everybody's  going  away  out  of 
the  city,  but  papa  will  insist  on  staying  after  every  one 
else.'* 

"  Whom  do  you  call  everybody  else,  my  dear  ?"  said 
Mr.  Leonard,  looking  over  his  paper  good-humoredly.  "  If 
I  don't  mistake,  you  may  see  some  thousands  of  people  in 
New  York  every  day  still." 

**  Oh,  yes,  the  nobodies  stay,  of  course.    I  don't  metn 
them,"  said  Miss  Felice,  pettishly.     "  I  hate  people.    Anj 
body  that  pretends  to  be  anybody  is  going  away." 
14* 


i 


ti 


I 

I: 


CBABLET'S    OBlMB. 


I 


Hi 


«  Fon're  a  nice  republican — you  are  T*  said  Master 
Royal,  who  in  one  corner  of  the  room  was  making  frantio 
efforts  to  stand  on  his  head,  as  he  had  seen  them  do  in  the 
circus  the  night  before. 

"  Has  your  friend  Mr.  Randall  gone,  too  ?**  said  Georgia, 
still  trying  to  smile,  though  there  was  a  slight  agitation  in 
her  voice  in  spite  of  all. 

**  Yes,  of  course  he  has.  I  wonder  you  didn't  hew  of 
it,"  baid  Miss  Felice,  looking  dissatisfied. 

"  Hear  of  it  1  how  could  she  ?"  broke  in  Maggie.  "  You 
■ee.  Miss  Randall,  the  queerest  thing  occurred  while  yon 
were  sick  —just  like  a  thing  in  a  play,  where  everybody 
turns  out  to  be  somebody  else.  Mr.  Randall  had  a  sister 
once  upon  a  time,  and  lost  her  somehow,  and  she  grew  up 
and  married  Mr.  Richmond  Wildair,  and  he  lost  her  some- 
how, the  lady  evidently  having  a  fancy  forgetting  lost,  and 
it  was  all  found  out  through  Dick  Curtis.  So  Mr.  Randall 
and  Mr.  Wildair  had  a  great  time  about  it,  and  iiow  they 
have  both  gone  to  look  for  her  again — one  North  and  the 
other  South,  so  if  they  don't  find  her  it  will  be  a  wonder. 
Is  it  not  romantic  ?  I  would  give  the  world  to  see  her — the 
wife  and  sister  of  two  such  famous  men.  Oh,  Miss  Ran- 
dall I  Mr.  Curtis  says  she  was  quite  splendid — so  beautiful, 
Yja  know,  and," — here  Maggie  lowered  her  voice  to  a 
mysterious  whisper — <*  he  thinks  she  has  gone  and  killed 
herself." 

"  Oh,  ma,  look  how  pale  Miss  Randall  is  ;  she's  going  to 
faint  if  you  don't  look  sharp,"  cried  out  Master  RoyaL 

"  No,  it  is  nothing  ;  pray  do  not  mind,"  said  Georgia 
faintly,  motioning  them  away.  "  I  am  not  very  strop.g 
yet ;  allow  me  to  wish  you  good-morning.  Mr.  JjeonaL'df 
can  I  see  you  in  private  for  a  few  minutes  ?** 


OHABLET'S    ffBlMB. 


**  Certainly,  certainly,"  responded  Mr.  L  K)nard,  while 
the  rest  looked  up,  rather  surprised,  as  they  left  the  room. 

In  as  few  words  as  possible  Georgia  made  known  her 
request,  and  obtained  from  him  a  promise  of  secrecy.  Mr. 
Leonard  was  not  in  the  least  sut  prised  ;  he  was  perfectly 
confident  about  her  taking  the  prize,  and,  having  obtained 
her  address,  told  her  he  would  call  for  it  on  the  morrow. 

But  when  the  old  gentleman  saw  it  he  fairly  started 
back,  and  gazed  on  it  in  a  sort  of  terror  and  consternation 
that  amused  Georgia,  breaking  out  at  intervals  with  ejacu- 
lations of  extreme  astonishment. 

"  Eh  ?  what  ?  Lord  bless  my  soul  1  Why,  it's  quite 
frightful — upon  my  life  it  is !  Good  gracious  I  what  a  pair 
of  eyes  that  young  woman  has  got  I  *  Hagar  in  the  Wil- 
derness.* Je-ru-sa-lem  I  I  wouldn't  be  Abraham  for  a 
trifle,  with  such  a  desperate-looking  wild-cat  as  that  about 
the  bouse.  She's  the  bom  image  of  yourself,  too ;  one 
would  think  you  and  Hagar  were  twin  sisters.  Well,  Lord 
bless  me !  if  it  isn't  enough  to  give  a  man  fits  to  look  at  it ! 
It's  well  I'm  not  nervous,  or  I'd  never  get  over  the  shock  of 
looking  at  it.  Upon  my  honor.  Miss  Randall,  I  don't  know 
what  to  make  of  you.  You're  the  eighth  wonder  of  the 
world — that's  what  you  are  !" 

The  painting  was  accordingly  sent  in,  and  three  days 
after,  the  whole  Leonard  family  departed — the  children  for 
home,  and  the  elders  of  the  house  for  Cape  May — and  now 
Georgia  was  left  to  solitude  and  suspense  once  more,  until, 
as  day  after  day  was  passed,  and  the  day  approached,  she 
began  her  old  fashion  of  working  herself  up  into  one  of  her 
fevers  of  impatience  and  excitement.  Her  usual  antidote 
of  a  long,  rapid  walk  was  followed  in  the  city  as  well  as  in 
the  country,  and  often  did  people  pause  and  look  in  wonder 


■:   ! 


•fi 


VA 


?i...i 


^1 


'  I' 


824 


ORABLETS    ORIMB. 


'i'^: 


ii 


ill  !' 


u 


;il 


iili! 
ills 


after  the  tall,  dark-robed  figure  that  flitted  so  rapidlj  by 
them,  whose  vailed  face  do  one  ever  saw. 

One  night,  as  darkness  was  falling  over  the  city,  Georgia 
found  herself  suddenly  among  a  crowd  of  people  who  were 
passing  rapidly  into  a  church.  Borne  along  by  the  throng, 
she  was  carried  in,  too,  and  half-bewildered  by  the  crowd, 
and  by  the  crash  of  a  grand  organ,  and  the  glitter  of  many 
lights,  she  found  herself  in  a  pew,  among  thousands  of 
others,  before  she  quite  realized  where  she  was.  She 
looked,  and,  with  a  half-startled  air,  saw  she  was  in  one  of 
tie  largest  churches  of  the  city,  and  that  it  was  already 
filled  to  suffocation. 

She  heard  some  persons  in  a  seat  before  her  whisper 
that  an  eloquent  young  divine  (she  could  not  catch  the 
name)  was  going  to  address  them.  While  they  yet  spoke, 
ft  tall,  slight  figure,  robed  in  black,  came  out  of  the  vestry^ 
passed  up  the  stairs,  and  ascended  the  pulpit.  A  silence 
so  profound  that  you  could  have  heard  a  pin  drop  in  that 
vast  multitude  reigned,  broken  at  last  by  a  clear,  thrilling 
voice  that  rang  out  in  deep  tones  with  the  awful  words 
from  Holy  Writ : 

"  You  shall  seek  Me  and  you  shall  not  find  Me,  and  you 
shall  die  in  your  sins.*' 

A  death-like  pause  ensued,  and  every  heart  seemed  to 
stand  still  to  catch  the  next  words.  But  why  does  Geor- 
gia start  as  if  she  haa  received  a  spear  thrust  ?  Why  do 
her  lips  spring  white  and  quivering  apart  ?  Why  are  her 
eyes  fixed  so  wildly,  so  strangely  on  the  preacher  ?  In  that 
moment  the  mystery  was  solved,  the  secret  revealed— the 
brother  of  her  husband  stands  before  her.  The  gay,  the 
careless,  the  elegant,  the  thoughtless  Charley  Wildair  is  a 
elergyman.    For  awhile  she  sat  stunned  by  the  shook,  oon 


iiit 


OEABLET'a    CRIMK 


toious  that  he  was  speaking,  yet  hearing  not  a  word.  Then 
her  clouded  faculties  cleared,  and  her  ears  were  greeted  bj 
such  bursts  of  resistless  eloquence  as  she  bad  never  d:  earned 
of  before.  In  that  moment  rose  before  her,  with  terrific 
vividness,  the  despairing  death-bed  of  the  sinner  and  the 
awful  doom  that  must  follow.  Shuddering  and  terrified, 
she  sank  back,  shading  her  face  with  her  hands,  appalled 
by  the  awful  fate  that  might  have  been  hers.  What — 
what  was  all  earthly  trouble  compared  with  that  dread- 
eternity  of  misery  she  had  deserved — that  awful  doom  that 
might  yet  be  hers  ?  Still  it  arose  before  her  in  all  its 
frightful  horrors,  exhibited  by  the  clarion  voice  of  the 
speaker,  until,  wrought  up  to  the  pitch  of  frenzy,  her  tremb- 
ling lips  strove  to  form  the  word  "Mercy.'*  And  still, 
as  if  in  answer,  rang  out  that  thrilling  voice  with  that  ter- 
rific sentence  of  eternal  doom : 

"  You  shall  seek  Me  and  you  shall  not  find  Me,  and  yon 
shall  die  in  your  sins." 

The  sermon  was  over,  tne  people  were  crowding  oat, 
and  she  found  herself  half  senseless  kneeling  in  the  pew, 
with  her  face  hidden  in  hor  hands.  An  uncontrollable 
desire  to  see,  to  speak  to  him  she  had  just  heard  seized  her, 
and  she  sprang  up,  and  grasping  some  one  who  stood  near 
her,  said,  incoherently  : 

"Where  is  he?    I  must  see  him  I    Where  is  he  gone  ?^ 

"  Who  ?'*  said  the  startled  personage  she  addressed. 

"  He  who  has  just  preached." 

"  In  there,"  said  the  man,  pointing  to  the  vestrv-  "  Go 
in  that  way  and  you  will  see  him." 

Forcing  her  way  through  the  throng,  Georgia  carried 
on,  passed  into  the  sanctuary,  and  from  thence  to  tho 
vestry. 


■  ■ 


■X   i 


^ 


r 


5:)r 


I     '  1: 


826 


0HAItLET*8    ORIMK 


I    ,?  rs 


I   ' 


Uiii 


There  she  paused — restored  to  herself.  Nearly  a  doien 
clergymen  were  there,  standing  in  groups,  conversing  with 
several  ladies  and  gentlemen,  who  had  come  too  late  to  get 
into  the  church,  and  had  been  forced  to  remain  there  to 
listen.  All  eyes  were  turned  on  the  new-comer,  whose  pale, 
wild  beauty  made  her  an  object  of  deep  interest,  as  she 
stood  startled  and  hesitating  in  the  door- way.  A  little  boy, 
standing  near,  looked  up  and  said,  curiously  : 

"  Did  you  want  anybody,  ma*am  ?" 

"  Yes — Mr.  Wildair.  Is  he  hcr»  ?"  said  Georgia,  hur- 
riedly. 

"  Te8*m,  there  he  is,*'  said  the  boy,  pointing  to  where 
stood  the  man  she  was  in  search  of,  standing  by  himself,  his 
forehead  leaning  on  his  hand,  and  a  look  of  utter  fatigue 
and  weariness  on  his  face. 

All  Georgia's  eagerness  returned  at  the  sight.  Passing 
rapidly  through  the  wondering  spectators  she  approached 
him,  and,  with  an  irrepressible  cry  of  "  Charley  !"  she 
Btood  before  him. 

Looking  very  much  surprised,  as  well  he  might,  the 
young  clergyman  lifted  up  his  head  and  fixed  his  eyes  full 
on  her  face  ;  but  there  was  no  recognition  in  that  look, 
nothing  but  the  utmost  wonder. 

"  Oh,  Charley  I  don't  you  know  me  ? — don't  you  know 
Georgia  ?"  she  cried  out,  passionately. 

Instantly  he  started  up. 

"  What  1  Georgia  Darrell — little  Georgia,  my  brother's 
wile  I"  he  cried,  eagerly. 

Her  eyes  answered  him. 

**  Is  it  possible  ?  Why,  Georgia,  how  little  I  expected 
to  meet  you  here  1"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand,  with  a 


■I 


CEARLETS    CHIME. 


8t7 


rith 
I  get 
to 
lale, 

she 


mr- 


»nile  of  mingled  remorse  and  pleasure.     **  How  came  jon 
here  ?" 

*'  I  do  not  know.  Chauee — Providenoe— •something  Bent 
me  here  to-night." 

*^  I  would  never  have  known  you,  it  is  so  long  since  we 
met." 

"  Not  so  long  as  you  think,"  she  said,  with  one  of  her 
old  rare  smiles. 

"  No  1     How  is  that  ?" 

'*  Do  you  remember  the  person  yon  met  on  a  country 
road,  one  night  about  a  month  ago,  and  asked  the  way  to 
Widow  O'NeiPs  ?" 

««Ye8." 

**  I  was  that  person." 

<*  Indeed  !    And  did  yon  know  me  f* 

«<  Certainly  I  did." 

"  Well,  I  never  for  an  instant  dreamed  it  was  yon ;  bat 
no  wonder — I  never  saw  any  one  so  changed,"  he  said, 
looking  in  the  pale  wasted  face,  and  contrasting  it  with  the 
blooming  happy  one  he  had  last  seen. 

**  Trouble  seldom  changes  people  for  the  better,  I  be- 
lieve," she  said,  with  a  sigh 

"  Ah,  I  heard  what  you  allude  to  ;  Curtis  told  me.  I 
am  very,  very  sorry  indeed,  Georgia ;  but  do  you  know 
they  imagine  you  dead  ?" 

Tes,  I  know  it,"  she  said,  averting  her  face. 
And  that  Richmond  has  searched  for  tidings  of  toi 
everywhere  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  Georgia,"  he  said,  anxiously,  "what  do  yoi 
intend  to  do  ?    You  should  return  to  your  husband." 

"  I  intend  to,"  she  said,  looking  up  with  a  saddeo 


(( 


(( 


I 


W 


,t 


■f   I 


'\ 


S28 


CnARLETa    CRIME. 


bright  smile,  "  but  not  just  yet.  And  yoa — ^how  little  I 
ever  expected  to  see  you  a  clergyman — you,  who,  if  your 
reverence  will  excuse  my  saying  it,  used  to  be  such  a  rattle- 
pate.'* 

He  laughed,  the  happy,  careless  laugh  that  remit>4ed 
her  of  the  Charley  of  other  days,  and  shook  back,  with  the 
old  familiar  motion,  his  thick,  clustering,  chestnut  hair. 

"  Time  works  wonders,  Georgia.  Thank  God  for  \i  hat 
it  has  done  for  me,"  he  said,  reverentially.  "Did  you 
know  I  was  a  clergyman  ?** 

"  Not  until  to-night.  They  never  would  tell  me  what 
became  of  you.  They  said  you  disgraced  the  family,  com- 
mitted some  awful  crime,  but  what  it  was  I  never  could 
learn.  Surely  they  did  not  mean  that  by  becoming  « 
clergyman  you  had  disgraced  your  family  ?** 

*<  They  meant  that,  and  nothing  else,"  he  said,  emphat- 
ically. 

'*  Ah,  how  much  you  gave  up  for  the  dictates  of  con- 
Fcience — friends  and  family,  wealth  and  worldly  honors, 
and  all  that  makes  life  dear ;  and  yet  you  look  happy,"  said 
Georgia,  in  a  sort  of  wonder. 

He  laid  his  hand  on  hers  and  pointed  up,  while  he  said, 
in  a  low  voice  : 

" '  Amen,  I  say  to  you,  there  is  no  man  that  hath  left 
home,  or  parents,  or  brethren,  or  wife,  or  children,  for  the 
kingdom  of  God's  sake,  who  shall  not  receive  much  more 
in  this  present  time,  and  in  the  world  to  come  life  everlast* 
ing.'" 

She  lifted  her  eyes  in  a  sort  of  awe  at  the  inspired  tonei. 
And  his  face  was  as  the  face  of  an  angel. 

A  silence  fell  on  them  both,  broken  first  by  hioL 

*'  Tou  must  come  to  see  mc  again,  Georgia.    I  have  a 


CBABLET'S    CRIMB. 


83> 


guod  deal  to  say  to  you  that  I  have  no  time  to  Bay  new. 
Here  is  my  address  while  I  remain  in  the  city,  which  will 
not  be  long.     You  have  suffered  wrong,  Georgia,  but  *  for- 
give that  you  be  likewise  forgiven.*     I  must  go  now 
Good-night,  and  Heaven  bless  you  !*' 

In  her  unworthiness  she  felt  as  if  she  could  have  sunk 
at  his  feet  and  kissed  the  hem  of  his  garment.  She  bowed 
her  once  haughty  head  to  receive  his  parting  benediction, 
and  hurried  out. 

Sitting  in  her  room  that  night,  she  sank  down  to  pray 
for  the  first  time  in  years — almost  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life.  Fervently,  earnestly  was  that  prayer  offered  ;  and  a 
calmness,  ^  peace  hitherto  unknown,  stole  into  her  heart. 
In  the  sighing  of  the  wind  she  seemed  to  hear  an  angel 
voice  softly  saying,  "  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labor  and 
are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest ;"  and  dropping 
her  forehead  in  her  clasped  hands,  she  sank  down  in  thf 
calm  light  of  high,  bright,  solemn  Btars,  and  meekly  amr 
mured  : 

«  Hear  Me,  ok,  Lord  r 


f 


\m.\ 


TEE   BUN  JUAtU 


CHAPTER  XXn. 


THX  BUN  BISBfl. 


**  Radiant  daughter  of  the  sun, 
Now  thy  liviug  wreath  is  won, 
Crowned  with  fame!    Oh  I  art  thoa  act 
Happy  in  that  glorious  lotf 
Happier,  happier  far  than  thou, 
With  the  laurel  on  thy  brow, 
She  that  makes  the  humblest 
Lovely  but  to  one  on  earth." 


Mbs.  HxKAm. 


HE  wise  counsel  and  impressive  instructions  of 
her  old  acquaintance,  the  now  calm,  dignified, 
and  subdued  Rev.  Mr.  Wildair,  soon  brought 
forth  good  fruit.  Georgia  began  to  find  the 
"  peace  which  passeth  all  understanding."  Now  she  looked 
forward  with  calm,  patient  expectation  to  her  meeting  with 
her  husband,  with  the  sweet  promise  ever  in  her  mind, 
**  seek  first  the  kingdom  of  God,  and  all  else  shall  be  added 
unto  you."  With  a  sad  heart  Georgia  noticed  her  old 
companion's  thin,  wasted  face  and  form,  the  striking  bril- 
liancy of  his  eyes,  the  hectic  flush  of  his  pale  cheek,  and 
the  short,  hacking  cough  that  impeded  his  speech,  and  felt 
that  the  inspired  young  missionary's  days  were  numbered. 
mm  ' «  *  m 

The    day  came  at  last  when   the   decision   regarding 
Georgia's  picture  was  to  be  announced. 

She  tned  to  be  calm  and  patient,  but  notwithstanding 
all  her  efforts  in  this  direction,  when  Mr.  Leonard  ttai^ed 


THE   SUN   R18B8.  Ml 

off  to  hear  the  decision  that  was  to  oondema  or  accept  hei 
picture,  she  was  in  a  perfect  fever  of  anxiety.  She  could 
not  sit  still,  she  could  not  taste  breakfast ;  she  walked  up 
and  down  her  room  in  irrepressible  impatiei:  te,  with  two 
hot  spots,  all  unusual  there,  burning  on  either  eheek,  asd  » 
wild,  feverish  light  streaming  from  her  eyes. 

Noon  came — twelve  o'clock — Georgia  looked  at  her 
watch  unceasingly.  He  had  promised  to  return  between 
twelve  and  one,  but  one  passed  and  he  came  net ;  two,  and 
he  was  absent  still ;  three,  and  in  her  burning  impatience 
she  was  about  to  throw  on  her  hat  and  shawl  and  hasten 
out  in  search  of  news,  when  the  door  was  flung  open,  and 
Mr.  Leonard,  flushed,  and  panting,  and  perspiring,  rushed 
in. 

"  Hurrah  I  you've  done  it !  you've  done  it !  you've  got 
the  prize.  Miss  Randall  I  Hagar's  electrifying  the  whole  of 
'em  and  got  herself  to  the  top  of  the  tree.  If  Abraham 
was  around  he'd  feel  pretty  cheap  just  now,  to  see  the  f usa 
they're  making  about  her.  I  knew  you  would  get  it,  Miss 
Randall !    Let  me  congratulate  you  1    Hurrah  !" 

And  Mr.  Leonard,  in  his  delight,  waved  his  hat  and 
gave  a  cheer  that  sent  the  widow  shrieking  into  the  room 
to  see  wh?.t  was  the  matter.  And  there  she  found  Mr. 
Leonard  gr^^sping  Georgia  by  both  hands,  and  shaking 
them  with  a  zeal  and  vehemence  quite  startling,  while 
Georgia  herself,  forgetting  everything,  even  her  success,  in 
her  sense  of  the  ludicroas,  was  laughing  until  her  cheekf 
were  crimson. 

"  Quite  true,  I  assure  you,  Miss  Randall  I  true,  every 
word  of  it,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Leonard,  with  delighted  im- 
petuosity, turning  to  the  startled  widow.  "  Upon  my  life, 
it  is  I   Why,  what  a    genius   you    are  !  ain't  yon,  Misi 


1 

i 


'1 

M 
.'I 


4 


wz 


rutM  au^  iusMA 


I  ii 


'1 J 


lb: 


RandftU?  Bless  qj  soul,  what  a  fuss  they  are  Jiaking 
about  that  picture  of  yours  !  *  Who's  the  artist  ?  Who's 
the  painter  ?'  that's  the  cry  from  them  all.  *  Does  any  one 
know  the  artist?'  says  one  fellow,  a  chap  with  as  much  hair 
on  his  face  as  on  a  Chimpanzee  monkey  ;  a  great  artist  he 
is,  and  &  stunning  big  wig  among  them,  it  seems.  *  The 
picture's  quite  wonderful,  quite  wonderful,'  says  he,  *  would 
not  disgxAce  Raphael  himself.'  *  Yes,  sir,'  says  I,  stepping 
forward,  '/know  the  artist  ;  I  placed  that  picture  lliere  ; 
there  are  ilxj  initals  of  the  artist's  name,'  says  I,  pointing 
to  them  on  vhe  back,  *  G.  R.  D.  W.'  By  the  way,  Miss 
Randall,  that  4;t.ring  of  letters  are  not  your  initials,  though, 
as  you  told  m«  to  say  so,  of  course  I  did  it.  *  Why  is  he 
not  here?'  singu  out  half  a  dozen  voices  together,  while 
some  thousands  cf  eyes  turned  eagerly  on  me.  *  How  do 
you  know  it's  a  Ac  ''  says  I.  *  The  artist's  not  a  man  at  all, 
but  a  young  lady.  Well,  would  you  believe  it,  they  fairly 
laughed  at  the  not.jn  at  first,  wouldn't  be  convinced  at  any 
price  ;  but  when  th.ey  found  I  really  and  truly  had  brought 
it  there,  and  knew  all  about  it,  they  had  to  believe,  and 
wonderful  was  their  astonishment  to  behold,  I  assure  you. 
'  A  lady  paint  that !'  said  the  head  whiskerando  I  spoke  of 
before,  staring  at  Hagar.  *  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing. 
One  thing  is  certain,  she  either  was  not  in  her  right  mind, 
or  was  the  reverse  of  happy  when  she  did  it.'  As  to  being 
in  ber  right  mind,'  says  I,  rather  nettled,  *  it  would  be  well 
for  some  of  you  chaps  if  you  had  as  much  sense  ;  and  as 
for  being  happy,  I  should  think  she  would  be  a  good  deal 
happier  than  you  all  who  have  lost  the  prize.'  Weil,  some 
of  them  looked  at  one  another,  and  made  the  remark  *  Te 
he  I'  at  that ;  and  the  disappointed  artists  scowied  at  me  in 
that  shMsking  way  that  second  and  third-class  villains  do  oa 


THB    SUy    RISES. 


iD(r 


the  stftge,  ind  walked  off  muttering  ocrses  '  not  loud  bat 
deep  *  at  me,  and  you,  and  the  judges,  and  Hagar  herself, 
I  have  no  donbt,  came  in  for  a  share.  But  the  npshot  of 
the  whole  matter  is  that  you  are  to  get  the  prize,  and  be 
enrolled  among  the  brotherhood  as  a  first-class  artist,  and 
to  go  to  a  meeting  of  the  holy  fraternity  of  painters  to- 
morrow along  with  me,  and  be  looked  at  and  let  the  world 
know  the  artist  of  *  Hager  in  the  Wilderness.'  1  left  about 
five  score  of  people  sketching  it  when  I  came  away,  and 
there  won't  be  a  magazine  from  Maine  to  Alaska  this  day 
month  that  won't  have  a  steel  engraving  of  it,  and  you,  too, 
or  my  name's  not  John  Peter  Leonard.  Bless  me  !  won't 
the  girls  and  Mrs.  L.  be  astonished  !  To  think  we  should 
have  a  genius  in  the  house,  and  I  should  never  know  it ; 
though,  to  be  sure,  I  did  think  there  was  something  extra- 
ordinary about  you  from  the  first  time  I  saw  you.  Well, 
well,  well !  wonders  will  never  cease." 

Georgia  smiled,  but  her  cheek  was  flashed  and  her  eye 
flashing  with  triumph.  Never  had  she  looked  so  beautiful 
before,  and  the  old  gentleman  gazed  at  her  with  profound 
admiration  as  she  stood  like  a  triumphant  young  queea 
before  him. 

"  Ton  are  right,  Mr.  Leonard,  wonders  never  %eill  cease. 
Some  day,  very  shortly,  I  intend  to  give  yon  a  still  greater 
sarprise." 

**  Eh — ^how — what  is  it  t"  laid  the  old  man,  pnzxled  by 
her  radiant  face. 

"  Never  mind,  air.  You  shall  know  in  good  time.  To- 
morrow I  will  go  with  you  to  receive  my  reward  of  merit.' 
I  have  never  got  one  since  I  left  school,  but  I  doB^t  know 
bat  that  I  rather  like  the  idea  after  all." 


ii 


^1 


i  i 


TEE    aUN   IU8B& 


' 


Ai  she  spoke  the  door  was  opened,  and  the  widow 
re-entered. 

**  Well  ?"  said  Georgia,  inquiringly. 

"  There  are  two  gentlemen  in  the  next  room  ^ho  waal 
to  see  yon,  if  you  please,"  she  said. 

**  To  see  me  1"  said  Georgia,  in  surprise. 

"  Yes'm  ;  they  asked  for  Miss  Randall." 

Georgia's  heart  throbbed,  and  her  color  came  and  went. 
A  sudden  faintness  seized  her,  and  she  sank  into  a  chair. 

"  Why,  bless  my  heart  1  what's  the  matter  ?"  said  Mr. 
Leonard,  in  surprise ;  "  it  can*t  be  the  artists,  you  know, 
because  they  don't  know  your  name  or  address.  What 
does  ail  you,  Miss  Randall  ?" 

"  Show  them  in  here.  I  will  see  them,"  said  Georgia, 
faintly,  raising  her  head  and  laying  her  hand  on  her  heart 
to  still  its  tumultuous  throbbings. 

Georgia's  hour  had  come. 

The  door  opened,  and  Georgia  rose  to  her  feet,  deadly 
pale,  with  many  emotions,  as  Dick  Curtis  and  Mr.  Randall 
entered. 

**  I  was  right — it  ia  she  !"  cried  Mr.  Curtis,  joyfully,  as 
he  sprang  forward  and  caught  both  her  hands  in  his. 
«  Huzza  I  Oh,  Mrs.  Wildair,  Mrs.  Wildair !  to  think  I 
should  ever  see  yon  again  I"  said  Dick,  fairly  ready  to  cry. 

"  Mrs.  Wildair  I    Why,  what  the " 

Mr.  Leonard,  in  his  astonishment,  made  use  of  an  im* 
proper  word,  reader,  so  you  will  excuse  me  for  not  repeat- 
ing it. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Curtis,  I  am  truly  glad  to  see  j^oa  agaiBy" 
■aid  Georgia,  in  a  faltering  voice — "  more  rejoiced  than  I 
have  words  to  say." 

"And  this  gentleman  !  I'll  bet  yon  a  dollar,  new,  yoall 


dow 


TniB  8VN  msBa.  m 

Mj  yoa  don't  know  him/*  said  Mr.  Curtis,  rubbing  hii 
hands  gleefully. 

"  Not  BO,  sir,"  said  Georgia,  taking  a  step  forward  and 
looking  up  in  tbo  pale  agitated  face  of  Mr.  Randall,  every 
feature  of  which  was  familiar  to  her  now.  "  My  dear,  my 
long-lost  brother  1  My  dearest  Warren  !"  And  with  a 
great  cry  she  sprang  forward  and  was  looked  in  her 
brother's  arms. 

*'  Georgia  !  Georgia  !  my  sister  V^  was  all  he  could  say, 
as  he  strained  her  to  his  breast,  and  tears,  which  did  honor 
to  his  manly  heart,  dropped  on  her  bowed  head. 

"  Huzza !  hip,  hip,  hurrah  !  it's  all  right  now  !"  shouted 
Mr.  Curtis,  as  he  flourished  round  the  room  in  a  frantic 
extempore  waltz  of  most  intense  delight,  and  then,  in  the 
exuberance  of  his  joy,  he  seized  hold  of  the  astounded  Mr. 
Leonard  and  fairly  hugged  him,  in  his  ecstacy: 

"  Help  I  help  !  murder  !  fire  I"  yelled  Mr.  Leonard, 
■tmggling  frantically  in  what  he  supposed  to  be  the  grasp 
of  a  maniac. 

**  There  t  take  it  easy,  old  gentleman  !"  said  Mr.  Curtis, 
releasing  him,  and  cutting  a  pigeon's  wing.  "  Tol-de-rol- 
de-riddle-lol !  Don't  raise  such  an  awful  row  !  Ain't 
there  a  picture  to  look  at,  my  hearty  ?  Hurrah  !  Oh,  how 
happy  I  feel !  And  to  think  that  I  should  have  been  the 
means  of  bringing  them  together — I,  Dick  Curtis,  that 
never  did  anything  right  before  in  my  life  I  Good  gra- 
cious i    Tol-de-rol Hello  ?    Where  are  you  going  so 

fast,  old  gent  ?" 

Mr.  Leonard,  the  moment  he  found  himself  free,  had 
seized  his  hat,  and  was  about  to  decamp,  in  the  full  feeling 
that  a  lunatic  asylum  had  broken  loose  somewhere,  when 
Georgia,  looking  up,  espied  him,  and  said 


"i 


1 
■11 


11    !        i:. 


!''-ii 


THE   SUN   RISES. 

**  Mi.  Jjeonard,  don't  go.  My  best  friend  mast  stay  and 
•hare  in  my  joy  this  happy  day.  Can  you  guess  who  this 
is  V  she  said,  laying  har  hand  fondly  on  her  brother's  shoul- 
€er,  and  looking  up  in  hii  face,  with  a  smile  shining  through 
tier  tears. 

"  Gueps  !"  said  Mr.  Leonard,  tastily — "  I  don't  need  to 
fftiess,  young  lady.  I  know  well  enough  it's  young  Ran- 
dall, and  I  must  say,  although  he  i«  a  namesake  of  yours, 
it  doesn't  look  well  to  see  you  flying  into  his  arms  and 
hugging  him  in  that  manner  the  moment  he  comes  into  the 
house.  No  more  does  it  look  well  for  Dick  Curtis  to  take 
hold  of  me  like  a  bear,  and  dislocate  every  rib  I  have  in 
the  world,  as  he  has  done." 

'*  No,  I  haven't,  Mr.  Leonard,"  interrupted  Dick ; 
*'  there's  Mrs.  Leonard,  your  chief  rib— I  haven't  dislocated 
her, have  I?" 

Mr.  Leonard's  look  of  deepest  disgust  was  so  irresist- 
ible that  Dick  broke  off  and  burst  into  a  fit  of  immoder:ite 
laughter,  snapping  his  fingers,  ^nd  throwing  his  body  into 
all  sorts  of  contortions  of  delight,  and  his  example  proving 
contagious,  both  Mr.  Randall  and  Georgia  followed  it,  and 
all  three  laughed  without  being  able  to  stop  for  nearly  five 
minutes,  during  which  Mr.  Leonard  stood,  hat  in  hand, 
.ooking  from  one  to  the  other,  with  a  look  of  solemn  dismay 
unspeakably  ridiculous. 

"Do  not  be  shocked,  Mr.  Leonard,"  said  Georgia,  aa 
soon  as  she  could  speak  for  laughter,  "  though  really  yoa 
are  not  so  without  cause.  Did  I  not  tell  you  I  would  sur^ 
prise  you  of tener  than  you  thought  ?  Mr.  Randall  is  mj 
own,  my  only,  long-lost  brother." 

"  Her  brother  I    Oh,  ginger  I"  muttered  Mr.  Leonard, 


THB   SUN   RISES. 


38f 


completely  bewildered.  "  I  might  have  known  two  snch 
geniuses  must  be  related  to  one  another." 

"  For  all  you  have  kindly  done  for  my  sister,  Mr.  Leo« 
nard,  accept  my  thanks,"  said  Mr.  Randall,  as  he  came  for- 
ward,  with  a  smile,  and  shook  him  heartily  by  the  hand. 

"  Well,  what  a  go  this  is,  anyway !"  said  3Ir.  Curtis, 
meditatively.  "  Only  to  think  of  it  I  And  all  through  me 
— OT  r9,ther,  through  little  Emily's  picture  I  Why,  it*a 
wonderful  I  downright  wonderful  I — ain't  it,  Mrs.  Wil- 
dair  ?'' 

"Mrs.  Wild  air  I"  exclaimed  Mr.  Leonard,  looking  from 
Dick  to  Georgia  with  wide-open  eyes.  Then,  as  a  sudden 
I'ght  broke  in  upon  him.  "  Why,  Heaven  bless  my  soul  ! 
he  ejaculated.  "  Sure  enough,  they  told  me  Randall's  sis- 
ter was  Wildair's  wife — the  one  that  ran  away.  Great 
Jehosaphat !  to  think  she  should  turn  up  again  in  such  a 
remarkably  funny  way,  and  should  prove  to  be  our  Miss 
Randall !  I've  a  good  mind  to  swear  I — upon  my  life,  I 
have  !" 

"And  all  through  me,  too,  Mr.  Leonard,"  said  Mr. 
Curtis,  exultingly  ;  "if  it  hadn't  been  for  me  they  might 
nave  gone  poking  round  the  world  till  doomsday  and  not 
found  one  another.  If  I  don't  deserve  a  service  of  tin 
plate,  I  shall  feel  obliged  to  you  to  let  me  know  who  does." 

"  Land  of  life  and  blessed  promise  !'*  exclaimed  Mr. 
Leonard,  who  had  originally  come  from  "aw^y  down  East," 
and  when  excited  always  broke  out  into  the  expletives  of 
his  boyhood,  "  how  do  you  like  it  ?    Do  tell,  Curtis." 

"  Well,  you  see,'*  began  Mr.  Curtis,  with  the  air  of  one 

entering  into  an  obtuse   narrative,  "  Randall — his  name's 

Darrell,  but  that's  neither  here  nor  there ;  '  what's  in  a 

name,'  as  that  nice  man,  Mr.  Shakespeare,  says,  or,  rather, 

16 


I. 


'    ! 


1^  •  I 


■J 


TES   8U2f  RIBEB. 

as  he  makes  liliss  Juliet  Capilet  say  when  speaking  of 
young  Mr.  R.  Montague,  her  beau.  Randall,  as  I  was  say- 
ing, got  hold  of  a  picture  of  little  Emily — I  mean  Misi 
Murray,  a  friend  of  mine — drawn  by  Mrs  Wildair  there, 
while  residing  in  your  honse  and  doing  the  governess 
dodge  ander  the  name  of  Randall  too,  which  turns  out  to  be 
a  family  name  after  all,  and  one  day  he  accidentally 
showed  it  to  me,  and  if  I  didn't  jump  six  feet  when  I  saw 
it,  then  call  me  a  flat,  that's  all.  Of  course,  I  asked  him  no 
end  of  questions  and  found  out  where  he  got  it,  and  then  it 
was  all  as  clear  to  me  as  a  hole  in  a  ladder,  and  I  knew  in 
a  twinkling  who  '  Miss  Randell  *  was.  So  we  tore  along 
here  like  a  couple  of  forty-horse-power  comets,  and,  after 
a  whole  day  <)f  most  awful  bother,  we  found  out  where  she 
was.  And  here  we  came,  and  here  we  found  her,  and  so, 
no  more  at  present  from  yours  respectfully,  Dick  Curtis.'' 
And  Mr.  Curtis  made  a  feint  of  holding  out  an  imagi- 
nary dress,  like  an  old  lady  in  a  minuet,  and  courtesied 
profonndly  to  the  company  aiound. 

«  My  dear  Miss  Ran — I  mean  my  dear  Mrs.  Wildair, 
allow  me  to  congratulate  you,"  said  Mr.  Leonard,  his  face 
all  in  a  glow  of  delight  as  he  shook  her  warmly  by  the 
hand,  "  upon  my  life,  I  never  was  so  glad  in  all  my  days. 
Good  gracious  !  to  think  you  should  turn  out  to  be  such  a 

great  lady  after  serving  as  governess  in  our Well,  well, 

well !  And  that  you  should  5nd  your  brother  the  same 
day  you  took  the  prize  for  the  best  picture  in  the  Academy 
of  Art.  G-o-o-d  gracious !"  said  Mr.  Leonard,  with  a 
perfect  shake  on  the  word. 

"  What  I  Georgia  taken  the  prize  ?  It  can*t  be  possible 
that  you  are  the  successful  candidate  whose  wonderfal 


TRB   BUN   SJSmS. 


n 


picture  eyeryDody  is  talking  about  ?"  exclaimed  hei  brother, 
whose  turn  it  was  to  be  astonished. 

**  Mr.  Leonard  says  so,"  said  she,  smiling. 

"  Oh,  Jupiter  I"  ejaculated  Mr.  Curtis,  thmstiug  hit 
hands  into  his  pockets  and  uttering  a  long,  low  whistle,  in- 
dicative of  an  unlimited  amount  of  amazement,  "  and  you 
really  and  truly  painted  *  Hagar  in  the  Wilderness  V  " 

"  Yes,  I  really  and  truly  did,"  smiled  Georgia. 

*'  Well,"  said  Mr.  Curtis,  in  a  tone  of  resignation,  '*  all 
I  have  to  say  is  that  nothing  will  surprise  me  after  this. 
And  that  reminds  me,  I've  quite  forgotten  an  engagement 
down  town,  and  must  be  off.'  Randall,  don't  you  come.  I 
know  you  have  lots  of  things  to  say  to  your  sister.  Mr. 
Leonard,  you  have  an  engagement,  too— don't  say  no — I'm 
sure  you  have — come  along.  By-by,  Randall,  old-fellow  ; 
good-day,  Mrs.  Wildair.  Til  drop  in  again  in  the  course  of 
the  evening.  Now,  Mr.  Leonard,  off  we  go !"  and  Mr. 
Curtis  put  his  arm  througn  Mr.  Leonard's  and  fairly  drag- 
ged him  away. 

**  And  so,  instead  of  a  poor  unknown  governess,  I  have 
found  in  my  sister  one  with  whose  fame  the  whole  city  ii 
already  ringing,"  said  Mr.  Randall,  when  they  were  alone, 
as  he  looked  proudly  and  fondly  in  h'vr  beaut*  *ol  fsM. 
"  Dear  Georgia,  how  famoui  you  are." 


840 


OVER    THE    WORLD. 


CHAPTER  XXm. 


OTXB  TB.R    ^OBUK 


I      ^1 


*  *  They  stood  apwt. 
Uke  rocks  which  have  been  rent  as'uidtr, 

A  dreary  sea  now  flows  between, 
But  neither  heat,  nor  frost,  nor  thunder 

ShaH  wholly  do  away,  I  ween, 
The  works  of  that  which  once  hath  been.** 

COLBmilMB. 

jH,  Warren,  what  is  fame  compared  to  what  1 

have     found    to-day?"    she     said,    sweetly. 

"  What  is  fame,  and  wealth,  and  all  worldly 

honors,  compared  to  a  brother's  love  ?    But 

0W3  thing  more  is  needed  now  to  make  me  perfectly  happy. ** 

'*  I  know  what  you  mean,  Georgia — youi  bnsband.     Is 

it  possible  you  care  for  him  still,  after  all  he  has  made  you 

She  looked  up  in  his  face,  and  he  was  answered. 

«  Then,  for  your  sake,  I  am  sorry  he  has  gone,"  he  said 
■lowly. 

*<  Gone  ?"  she  repeated,  with  a  paling  cheek.  "  Gone 
where  ?" 

**  To  France,  on  some  important  mission  from  govern- 
ment that  no  one  can  f ulnll  so  well  as  himself,  and — I  have 
not  the  faintest  idea  of  when  he  will  return." 

**  Now  that  I  have  told  you  all  that  has  befallen  me," 
said  Georgia,  some  half  an  hour  later  that  same  afternoon, 
as  brother  and  sister  sat  side  by  side  at  the  window,  *'  I 


OVER    TEE    WORLD. 


til 


"I 


want  to  hear  your  adventnres  and  *  hair- breadth  'scapes  by 
floo^  and  field'  since  that  sad  night  long  ago,  v^hen  we 
parted  last. 

"  I  fear  yoa  are  doomed  to  be  disappointed,  then,  if  yon 
expect  any  such  things  from  me/'  said  her  brother,  smil> 
ing.  "  My  life  has  been  one  of  most  inglorious  safety  so 
far,  and  I  never  had  a  hair-breadth  escape  of  any  kind, 
since  I  was  bom." 

"  How  strange  it  is  that  I  could  ever  believe  yoa  dead," 
said  Georgia,  musingly.  "  Miss  Jerusha,  too,  to  use  her 
own  words,  constantly  averred  that  you  had  *  got  taken  in 
somewheres,'  and  never  would  hear  for  a  moment  that  you 
had  perished  in  the  storm." 

"Well,  Miss  Jerusha  was  right,"  said  Warren,  "though 
really  I  need  not  thank  her  for  it,  as  I  am  quite  certain, 
from  your  description,  she  is  the  old  lady  that  turned  me 
out  that  same  night.  However,  I  forgive  her  for  that,  and 
owe  her  a  long  debt  of  gratitude  besides,  for  all  she  has 
done  for  you.  You  remember,  of  course,  Georgia,  the 
company  we  used  to  act  with  ?" 

"  Yes,  perfectly.    Don't  I  remember  my  own  perform 
anoes  on  the  tight-rope  and  on  horseback  as  the  '  Flying 
Circasbian  ?"  she  said,  smiling. 

"  Well,  when  the  old  lady  turned  me  off  that  night,  I 
never  felt  more  like  despairing  in  all  my  life.  I  was 
wretchedly  clad — if  you  don't  remember  it, /do— and  it 
W99  bitterly  cold.  Still,  I  would  not  go  back  without  help 
of  some  kind,  so  I  staggered  on  and  on  through  the  blind- 
mg  storm,  until  at  last,  benumbed  and  helpless,  I  sank  down 
on  the  frozen  ground,  as  I  thought,  never  to  rise  agam." 

^Voor  little  fellow  !"  said  Georgia,  sadly,  in  whose 


i  i 


I 


i  'I  I' 

» •; .. 


842 


OVUB    THE    WOBL0. 


i     ■  ! 


1        *■ 


f: 

!       is 


miud  the  image  of  the  slight,  delicate  boy  he  was  then  roM 
uppermost. 

Warren  laughed  at  the  epithet  applied  to  one  who  stood 
six  feet  without  his  boots,  and  went  on  : 

**  I  suppose  I  had  fallen  into  that  sort  of  stupor  which 
precedes  freezing  to  death,  and  was  unconscious ;  but 
when  next  I  awoke  to  the  realities  of  this  exceedingly  real 
world,  I  was  in  bed  in  a  meanly  furnished  room,  and  the 
first  face  I  beheld  was  that  of  Betsey  Stubbs,  Georgia — the 
one  who  used  to  figure  on  the  bills  as  Eugenia  De  Lacy  ?" 

"  And  always  played  the  artless  little  girl,  although  she 
was  thirty  years  old,"  said  Georgia,  laughing.  "  Oh,  I 
remember  her." 

"  Well,  there  she  was,  and  there  I  was  with  her,  and 
with  the  company  again.  It  turned  out  that  two  of  the  men 
were  passing  along  the  road,  returning  to  the  village — what 
do  you  call  it  ? — Burnfield,  and  stumbled  over  me,  lying 
stiff  and  nearly  frozen  on  the  road.  They  knew  me  imme- 
diately, and  carried  me  off  to  where  the  rest  of  them  were  ; 
and  it  was  resolved  that  they  should  decamp  with  me,  for 
that  old  tyrant  of  a  manager  thought  it  too  much  of  a  good 
thing  to  lose  three  at  once.  So,  in  spite  of  my  tears,  and 
cries,  and  struggles  and  entreaties,  I  was  forcibly  carried 
off  a  little  after  midnight,  when  the  storm  cleared  away, 
and  brought  back  to  the  city. 

"  Well,  Georgia,  for  nearly  another  year  I  remained  at 
our  old  business,  and  with  the  old  set,  too  closely  watched 
to  think  of  escaping,  and  to  escape  from  them  was  now  the 
sole  aim  of  my  life.  The  opportunity  so  long  sought  for 
came  at  last.  One  night  a  chance  presented  itself,  and  I 
was  off ;  and  fickle  fortune,  as  if  tired  of  making  me 
a  mark  to  pok#  iun  at,  came  to  my  aid,  and  I  made  good 


OVER    THIS    WORLD. 


Ml 


my  escape  from  my  jealous  guardians.  For  hours  I  wan- 
dered about  through  the  city,  until  at  last,  worn  out  and 
exhausted,  I  curled  myself  up  on  the  marble  door-steps  of 
an  aristocratic  mansion,  and  fell  fast  asleep. 

"  A  hand  grasping  my  shoulder  and  shaking  me  roughly 
awoke  me  after  a  time,  and  as  I  started  up,  I  heard  a  gruff 
voice  saying : 

"  *  Hallo  !  you  little  vagrant,  what  are  you  doing  here  ?* 

"  I  rubbed  my  eyes  and  looked  up.  An  old  gentleman, 
who  had  just  alighted  from  a  carriage,  stood  over  me,  with 
no  very  amiable  expression  of  countenance,  shaking  me  as 
if  he  would  shake  a  reply  out  of  me  by  main  force. 

"  I  stammered  out  something — I  don't  know  what — and 
terrified  lest  he  should  give  me  into  the  hands  of  a  police 
man,  I  tried  to  break  away  from  him  and  fly  ;  but  the  old 
gentleman  held  on  like  grim  death,  and  seemed  not  to  have 
the  slightest  intention  of  parting  with  me  so  easily. 

*  You're  a  pickpocket,  ain't  you  ?'  said  he,  sharply. 
'  No,  sir/  said  I,  half-angrily,  and  looking  him  fall  in 
the  face,  '  I  am  not.* 

"  *  Then  what  brought  you  here,'  persisted  he,  *  if  you 
are  not  a  juvenile  thief  ?' 

"  *  I  was  tired,  sir,'  said  I,  *  and  I  sat  down  here  to  rest, 
And  so  feel  asleep.' 

"  The  old  gentleman  kept  his  sharp  eyes  fixed  on  me  as 
if  he  would  read  me  through,  with  a  strange  look  of  half- 
reoognition  on  his  face. 

"  *  Please  to  let  me  go,  sir,'  said  I,  again  struggling  to 
get  free. 

"  *  What's  your  name,  boy  ?'  said  the  old  man,  without 
heeding  me  in  the  slightest  degree. 

"  ♦  Warren  Randall  Darrell,'  replied  L 


« 


It 


i\ 


844 


OVER    THE    WORLD. 


H        ! 


"As  if  Le  had  been  struck,  the  old  man  loosened  hii 
hold  and  recoiled  ;  and  I,  seizing  the  opportunity,  darted 
off,  out  only  to  find  myself  in  the  grasp  of  a  servant  who 
stood  holding  the  horses. 

"  *  Not  80  fast,  my  little  shaver,'  said  he,  grinning  ;  *ju8t 
you  wait  till  Mr.  Randall's  done  with  you.' 

"  *  Mr.  Randall !'  repeated  I,  and  instantly  a  sort  of  con- 
*,  ictiou  dashed  across  my  mind  that  he  might  be  my  grand- 
father. 

"  At  the  same  instant  the  old  man  approached  me,  and 
catching  me  by  the  arm,  gazed  long  and  steadily  into  my 
face,  plainly  revealed  by  the  light  of  a  street-lamp.  1 
looked  up  in  his  agitated  face  quite  as  unflinchingly,  and 
so  we  stood  for  nearly  five  minutes,  to  the  great  bewilder- 
ment of  the  coachman,  who  stared  first  at  one  and  then  the 
other,  as  if  he  thought  we  had  both  lost  our  senses. 

" '  Tell  me,'  said  the  old  man,  after  a  pause,  *  what  WM 
youp  mother's  maiden  name  ?' 

"*  Alice  Bnndall,'  s-tid  I,  my  suspicion  becoming  cer- 
tainty ;  *  and  you  are  my  grandfather.' 

"  *  What  I'  he  exclaimed,  with  a  start.  *  Do  yon  know 
me  ?    Who  told  you  I  was  V 

"  *  No  one,'  said  I ;  *  but  I  taink  so.  My  grandfather'! 
name  is  Warren  fikAndall,  and  that  is  the  name  on  yonr 
door-plate  there.     I  was  called  after  him.' 

"  *  You  are  right,'  said  he,  in  an  agitated  voice.  *  I  %m 
your  grandfather.  My  poor  Alice  !  You  have  her  eyes, 
boy — the  same  eyes  that  once  made  the  light  of  my  home. 
Where — tell  me  where  is  she  now  ?' 

" '  I  don't  know,'  said  i,  halfHsobbing.  *  She's  dead,  F.iiii 
afraid — she  and  Georgia.' 

"  *  Who  is  Georgia  ?* 


fa 
F 


( 

t 

d 
c 
8 


OVER    THB    WORLD. 


**  *  My  sister.' 

*•  *  And  your  father  ?'  he  said,  with  a  darkening  brow. 

**  •  Is  dead,  too  ;  has  been  dead  this  long,  long  time.* 

"  *  And  so  you  are  an  orphan,  and  poor  and  friendless,* 
be  said,  speaking  as  much  to  himself  as  to  me.  <  Poor  boy  ! 
poor  little  fellow  I  Warren,  will  you  come  ana  live  with 
me — with  your  grandfather  ?' 

"  1  thought  for  a  moment,  and  then  shook  my  head. 

'^  *  No,*  said  I,  *  I  can't.  I  must  find  my  mother  and 
Georgia.* 

"  *  Where  are  they  ?*  he  said,  eagerly.  *  I  thought  yon 
told  me  they  were  dead." 

"  '  I  said  I  didn't  know,  and  I  don*t.  They  may  be 
dead,  for  it  is  over  a  year  since  I  saw  them  last.  I  was 
carried  away  from  them  by  force,  and  now  I  am  going  to 
seek  for  them.* 

"  *  You  1*  said  he.  *  How  can  a  little  friendless  boy  like 
you  find  them  ?  No,  no,  Warren,  stay  with  me,  and  let  me 
search  for  your  mother.  I  may  succeed,  but  you  will  starve 
ere  you  find  them,  or  be  put  in  prison.  Warren  you  v>iU 
stay  y» 

"  And  you  did  ?"  said  Georgia. 

''  And  I  did.  I  answerec^  that  what  he  said  was  tme, 
and  that  he  was  far  more  likely  to  succeed  than  I  was. 
That  night  I  slept  in  a  princely  home,  with  servants  to 
come  at  ray  call — with  every  luxury  to  charm  every  sense 
around  me.  Was  not  that  a  sudden  change,  Georgia,  from 
the  miserable  quarters  of  the  players  ?" 

'*  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Georgia.  "  And  what  change  did 
it  make  in  you  ?     Did  affluence  spoil  you  ?" 

**  It  might  havo,  if  I  had  staid  long  enough  there,**  said 
Warren,  smiling,  *'  for  I,  with  all  my  perfections — and  if 
15* 


.^tl> 


ill 


846 


OVER    TjIB    world. 


\ 


til'!: 


1  I 


J  . 


I  y. 


I  HI 


yo«  want  a  list  of  tbem  just  ask  Miss  Felice  Leonard— am 
not  infallible.  I  gave  biin  my  bistory,  and  be  dispatcbed 
a  trusty  messenger  to  Burnfield,  and  npon  bis  reti;m  be 
told  me  tbat  botb  my  motber  and  sister  were  dead.  I  be- 
lieved  bim  tben,  but  I  bave  since  tbougbt  tbat,  tinding  you 
provided  for,  be  wisbed  to  keep  me  all  to  bimself,  and  make 
!ue  bis  sole  beir. 

"  I  bad  sn  long  tbougbt,  Georgia,  tbat  you  and  ray 
motber  were  dead  tbat  tbe  revelations  did  not  take  me  by 
surprise,  and  tbougb  I  grieved  lor  awbile,  tbe  novelty  of 
eyerytbing  around  me  kept  my  mind  from  dwelling  mucb 
on  my  bereavement.  My  grandfatber  told  me  be  intended 
to  send  me  to  scbool,  and,  wben  be  died,  make  me  bis  sole 
heir,  on  condition  tbat  I  would  drop  tbe  detested  name  of 
Darrell  and  take  his.  Not  being  very  particular  about  tbe 
matter,  I  readily  consented,  and  two  months  afterward  I 
was  sent  to  old  Tale,  where  be  himself  bad  been  educated, 
there  to  be  trained  in  tbe  way  I  should  go. 

"  Well,  Georgia,  I  remained  there  four  years,  and  won 
golden  opinions  from  the  big  wigs  of  tbe  institution,  and 
delighted  tbe  heart  of  my  kind  old  grandfatber  by  my  pro* 
gress  in  tbe  arts  and  sciences..  A  letter  announcing  hi* 
sudden  death  recalled  me  at  last.  I  hurried  back  to  New 
York  in  time  to  follow  him  to  the  grave,  and,  wben  tbe 
will  was  read,  I  found  myself  sole  heir  to  his  almost  princely 
wealth. 

"  Then  I  went  to  Europe  and  Asia,  and  saw  all  the 
sights,  from  the  pyramids  of  Egypt  down,  and  wrote  a 
book  about  my  travels,  as  every  one  does  now  who  goei 
three  yards  from  his  own  vine  and  fig-tree.  Then  J  cam« 
home,  ani  lo  *  be^'ore  I  have  been  here  three  months,  [  find 


L  1'^ 


'II 


OVER    THE    WORLD. 


Ut 


thtX  my  sister,  who  was  dead,  comes  to  .lie  agam,  and  so 

—jinur 

"  You  should  add,  *  And  they  lived  happy  for  ever 
after,* "  said  Georgia,  smiling,  "  only,  perhaps,  it  would  not 
be  strictly  correct.  And  now  that  you  have  found  your 
•ister,  what  do  you  mean  to  do  with  her  ?" 

"  Make  her  mistress  of  the  palatial  mansion  of  the 
Randalls,"  said  Warren,  promptly,  "  and  settle  one-half  my 
fortune  on  her.  ITiatf  Madam  Wildair,  is  my  unchangea- 
ble intention." 

"  Oh,  Warren,  dearest,  I  will  never  hear  of  saoh  a 
tbin2^  i"  naid  Georgia,  "ebemently. 

"  Well,  if  you  will  excuse  me  for  saying  so,  I  don't  care 
in  the  least  whether  you  will  or  not — I  shall  do  it.  Not  a 
word  now,  Mistress  Georgia ;  you  will  find  that  yon  will 
have  to  obey  your  brother,  since  you  have  found  him,  and 
do  for  the  future  exactly  as  he  tells  you.  Besides,  Georgia, 
Warren  Randall's  sister  shall  never  go  back  penniless  to 
her  husband," he  said,  proudly ;  "he  shall  find  her  his  equal 
in  wealth,  as  in  everything  else." 

"  Oh,  Warren  1"  she  said,  with  filling  eyes. 

"  Not  a  word  about  it  now,"  he  said,  putting  his  fingeri 
over  Ler  lips  ;  "  to-morrow  the  world  shall  know  you  as 
you  really  are." 

"Warren,  listen  to  me,"  she  said,  taking  his  hand. 
"  Until  I  meet  Richmond  again,  I  intend  to  keep  my  incog- 
nito. Perhaps  you  may  call  it  an  odd  fancy,  bat  I  really 
wish  it.  No  one  yet  knows  my  secret  but  Mr.  Curtis,  Mr. 
Leo  lard,  and  Richmond's  brother,  and  if  I  wish  it  they 
will  keep  it  a  secret.  Let  me  still  be  Miss  Randall  until  ho 
comes." 

<*  Bpt  when  will  he  come  ?"  broke  in  Warren,  half 


f 


f  a 


848 


OVER    THE    WORLD. 


f?      '  ' 


-;l 


il:;!! 


: 


'«<<! 


patiently  ;  "  who  knows  ?  It  may  be  years  or — Georgia," 
he  added,  suddenly,  "  suppose  we  go  to  Aim,  eh  ?  When 
the  moantain  will  not  come  to  Mahomet,  Mahomet  must  go 
to  the  mountain — rather  that  style  of  thing,  isa*t  it  ? 
What  do  you  say  to  a  trip  to  France,  ma  belle  ^" 

"  Oh,  Warren  1"  she  cried,  catching  her  breath,  h«r 
whole  face  growing  radiant  with  delight. 

"  I  am  answered,"  he  said,  gayly  ;  "  this  day  week  we 
start." 

"  For  where,  may  I  ask  V  said  Mr.  Curtis,  lounging  in 
'*  Your  chateau  in  Spain  ?  or  on  a  wild-goose  chase  ?" 

"  Something  very  like  it,"  said  Warren,  laughing 
"  We  are  off  to  France,  in  search  of  one  Richmond  Wildair 
plenipotentiary  and  ambassador  extraordinary  to  the  court 
of  that  distant  and  facetious  region." 

"  Whew  I"  whistled  Mr.  Curtis,  "  I  see,  says  the  blind 
man.  What  a  thing  conjugal  affection  is,  to  be  sure  ! 
When  do  you  go  ?" 

"  This  day  week,  in  the  Golden  Arrow.  And  for  some 
inscrutable  feminine  reason  Georgia  wishes  you  to  preserve 
her  secret  inviolable  until  she  returns.  She  is  still  Miss 
Randall  ;  you  understand  ?  Tou  and  Mr.  Leonard  are  not 
to  mention  she  is  Richmond  Wildair's  runaway  wife." 

"  Pm  dumb,"  said  Mr.  Curtis,  shutting  his  lips  as  firmly 
as  though  they  were  never  to  be  opened  on  earth  again. 
"  Neither  tortures,  nor  anguish,  nor  bad  pale  ale  shall  tear 
from  this  lacerated  heart  the  fearful  secret.  Are  you  go- 
ing to  see  after  that  prize  of  yours  to-morrow,  Mrs.  Wild 
— gee  Whittaker  i  I  mean  Miss  Randall,"  said  he,  drop- 
ping his  tone  of  stage  agony,  and  speaking  in  lu)  n*tiira] 
voice. 

"  Most  decidedly,"  said  Georgia,  smiling. 


OVEB    THE    WORLD. 


"And  then  you  aro  goiug  to  throw  yourse.f  aw  a  j  on 
our  painfully  clever  friend  Wildair  again,  and  leave  all 
your  friends  here  in  Gotham  to  pine  away,  with  tears  in 
their  eyes  and  their  fingers  in  their  mouths/'  said  Mr.  Cur- 
tis, in  a  lugubrious  tone  ;  "  it's  something  I  never  expected 
of  you,  Mrs.  Wil — pooh  !  I  mean  Miss  Randall,  and  I  mast 
lay  I,  for  one,  never  deserved  it." 

"  Mr.  Curtis,  you — you  were  in  Bumfield  since  I  was,*' 
said  Qeorgia,  hesitatingly,  and  coloring  deeply  ;  "  how  was 
Miss  Jerusha  and  Emily  Murray  ?" 

"  Well  they  were  both  in  a  state  of  mind — rather,"  said 
Mr.  Curtis.  "  Miss  Jerusha  flamed  up,  and  blew  u  ^  ail^ 
sky  high,  in  fact  rai8ed  the  ancient  Harry,  in  -:  way  quite 
appalling  to  a  person  of  tender  nerves — myself,  for  instance 
— and  gave  Richmond  what  may  be  called,  without  exag- 
geration, particular  fits  !  As  for  little  Emily,'*  said  Mr 
Curtis,  turning  red  suddenly,  "  she — she  didn't  scold  any- 
body, but  she  cried  and  took  on  so  that  I  felt — I  felt  a  sort 
of  all-over  as  it  were — a  very  peculiar  feeling,  to  use  a  mild 
phrase,  if  you  observe." 

"  Dear  little  Emily,"  said  Georgia,  sighing. 

"That's  just  what  I  said,"  said  Mr.  Curtis,  eagerly 
"  but  she  didn't  pay  any  attention  to  it.  I  suppose  you 
know  I — I  went — I  mean  I  asked — that  is  I  offered — 
pshaw  !  what  d'ye  call  it — proposed,"  said  Mr.  Curtis, 
blushing,  and  squirming  uneasily  in  his  chair. 

"  No,  I  did  not  know  it,"  said  Georgia,  with  difficulty 
repressing  a  smile. 

"  But  I  did  though,  and  she  refused  me— sht  did,  by 
Jove  !"   said  Mr.  Curtis,  dolorously. 

"  What  bad  taste  the  girl  most  baTe,**  said  Mr.  R«i> 
daU. 


t  ti 


If 


M 


W 


Hi' 


I 


I'i     .1 


i  i 


800 


OVER    THE    WOULD. 


"  You're  another,"  said  Mr.  Curtis,  fiercely ;  "  she's  no 
such  thing  !  How  dare  you  insinuate  such  a  thing,  Mr. 
Randall  ?  There  never  yet  was  horn  a  man  good  enough 
for  her;  and  if  you  dare  to  douht  it,  I'll  be  hanged  if  I 
don't  knock  you  into  the  middle  of  next  week — now  then  !" 

Mr.  Curtis  was  as  fierce  as  a  Bengal  tiger.  Mr.  Ran- 
dall threw  himself  into  a  chdr,  and  laughed  immoderately. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  cry  you  mercy,  and  most  humbly 
beg  Miss  Emily  Murray's  pardon.  I  look  forward  some 
day  to  being  acquainted  with  her  myself,  and  if  I  find  her 
all  that  you  say,  I  shall  consider  the  advisabili^  j  of  making 
her  Mrs.  Warren  Randall." 

"  You  be — shot  I"  growled  Mr.  Curtis,  striding  sav- 
agely up  and  d>>wn.  **  She's  not  to  be  had  for  the  asking, 
I  can  tell  you  ;  and  afti  r  refusing  me,  it's  not  likely  she'd 
have  anything  to  do  with  you.  Mrs.  Wildair — oh,  darn  it 
— ^Miss  Randall,  I  mean,  when  you  see  your  husband,  tell 
him  his  mother  is  very  ill,  and  if  he  does  not  hasten  home 
soon  he  will  not  see  her  alive.  A  precious  small  loss  that 
would  be  though,"  said  Mr.  Curtis,  in  parenthesis — "  a  stiff, 
sneering,  high-and-mighty  old  virago  I  Don't  see,  for  my 
part,  what  Rich  meant  by  ever  having  such  a  mother  !" 

One  week  later,  Warren  Randall  and  his  sister  were  on 
board  the  Golden  Arrow,  en  route  for  Merrie  England. 
Fair  breezes  soon  wafted  them  to  the  white  cliffs  of  that 
**  right  little,  tight  little  "  island,  and  Georgia  for  the  first 
time  set  foot  on  a  foreign  shore. 

But  now,  in  her  impatience  to  rejoin  and  be  reconciled 
to  her  husband,  she  would  consent  to  make  no  stay  ;  so 
they  immediately  crossed  the  channel  into  France,  and 
posted  at  once  for  Paris.    And  there  the  first  news  the^ 


OVER    THE    WORLD. 

heard  from  the  American  consul  was  that  Mr.  Wildair  had 
left  a  fortnight  before  for  St.  Petersburg. 

It  was  9  disappointment  to  both,  a  bitter  one  to  G^r* 
gia,  and  Warren  felt  it  for  her  sake.  To  follow  him  wai 
the  first  impulse  of  both,  and  they  immediately  started  for 
the  Russian  capital. 

But  fortune  still  inclined  to  be  capricious,  and  to  doom 
Georgia's  new-found  patience  to  another  trial.  Mr.  Wil- 
dair's  political  mission  required  dispatch,  and  a  few  days 
before  their  arrival  he  had  gone.  From  the  minister  they 
learned  that  his  first  destination  was  a  return  to  Paris,  from 
thence  to  Baden  Baden,  and  it  was  more  than  probable  he 
would  visit  London  and  then  return  homa 

"  Well,  Georgia,'*  said  Warren,  "  you  see  fate  is  against 
you,  and  has  doomed  you  to  disappointment.  Nothing 
remains  now  but  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  bargain  and 
start  on  a  regular  sight-seeing  touis  and  *  do '  Europe,  as 
Gartis  would  call  it.  And,  after  all,  perhaps  it  is  for  the 
best  you  did  not  meet  him.  He  is  now  rapidly  rising  to 
political  distinction,  and  his  meeting  with  you  might  dis- 
tract his  thoughts,  and  would  certainly  keep  him  from 
entering  heart  and  soul  into  the  political  arena  as  he  does 
now.  Besides,  having  lost  you  for  so  long,  he  will  know 
how  to  value  you  all  the  more  when  yon  do  return.  Come, 
Georgia,  what  difference,  after  all,  will  a  year  or  two  makt 
in  a  life  ?  Don't  think  of  returning  now,  bat  let  us  ooB- 
tinue  our  tour." 

^^  I  am  at  your  disposal,  my  dear  Warren,**  said 
Georgia,  with  a  smile  and  a  sigh.  "  As  you  say,  after  all, 
a  year  more  or  less  will  not  make  a  great  deal  of  difference, 
and  I  am  particularly  anxious  to  continue  our  tour.  There* 
fore,  mon/^we,  do  with  me  as  you  will." 


ill 


1   I 


* 


f    ■  I 


OVBB    THE    WORLD. 

With  an  account  of  that  tour,  dearest  reader,  I  will  :iot 
weary  your  patience — sflready,  I  fear,  too  much  taxed.  All 
"grand  tours  "are  alike — the  same  sights  are  seen,  the 
same  incidents  occur,  the  same  scenery  and  pictures  are 
looked  at  and  gone  into  raptures  over,  and  the  same  people 
are  met  everywhere.  The  summer  was  spent  traveling 
slowly  through  France  and  Germany,  and  the  winter  was 
passed  in  Italy.  Early  in  the  spring  they  visited  Switzer- 
land ;  and,  almost  imperceptibly,  two  years  passed   away. 

And  where,  meanwhile,  was  he  whose  willful  blindnesi 
and  haughty  pride  had  brought  on  his  own  desolation? 
Where  was  he,  widowed  in  fate  though  not  in  fact  ? — where 
«vas  Richmond  Wildair  ? 

Home  again,  drowning  thought  and  his  intolerable 
remorse  in  the  giddy  whirl  of  political  life.  He  had  re- 
tamed  in  time  to  close  his  mother's  eyes,  and  hear  her  last 
words — a  wild  appeal  for  Georgia,  the  wronged  Georgia,  to 
forgive  her.  And  then,  with  all  the  power  of  his  mighty 
intellect,  he  had  given  himself  up  to  the  life  he  had  chosen, 
that  life  for  which  Heaven  and  nature  had  so  well  qualified 
him — a  great  legislator — and  that  life  became  to  him  wift, 
and  home,  and  all.  Already  he  had  taken  his  seat  in  the 
Senate,  and,  though  perhaps  the  youngest  there,  stood 
foremost  among  them  all,  crowned  with  his  lofty  genius  as 
with  a  diadem.  The  knowing  ones  whispered  that  at  the 
next  election  he  was  certain  of  becoming  Governor  of  his 
■atire  State,  and  certainly,  as  far  as  popularity  went,  there 
oould  be  little  doubt  of  it  Never  was  there  a  young 
statesman,  perhaps,  who  in  so  short  a  time  had  risen  80 
rapidly  to  distinction,  and  won  such  "golden  opinions" 
from  all  sorts  of  people. 

Of  almost  all  concerning  his  wife  he  was  profoundly 


OVER    THE    WORLL. 


898 


ignorant.  One  thing  he  knew,  and  that  was  that  she,  and 
no  other,  had  painted  the  wonderful  picture  about  which 
the  artistic  world  was  still  raving.  Hagar,  in  her  mighty 
grief  and  dark  despair,  the  wild,  woeful,  anguished  form 
writhing  yet  majestic  in  her  great  wrongs,  was  Georgia  as 
he  had  seen  her  last.  And,  as  if  to  make  conviction  doubly 
sure,  the  picture  bore  her  initials.  One  consolation  it 
brought  to  him,  and  that  was  that  she  still  lived.  Every 
effort  in  human  power  he  had  made  to  discover  her,  but  all 
he  could  succeed  in  learning  was  that  a  tall,  dark,  majestic- 
looking  lady,  bearing  the  name  of  Miss  Randall,  had 
received  the  prize  ;  but  nothing  more  was  known  of  her. 
Then  he  sought  for  her  brother,  and  heard  he  had  gone  to 
Europe,  but  whether  alone  or  not  he  could  not  discover. 
A  score  of  times  within  the  day  would  Dick  Curtis  be  on 
the  point  of  telling  him  all,  until  the  recollection  of  his 
promise  would  stop  him,  and  he  would  inwardly  fume  at 
not  having  made  a  mental  reservation  at  the  time.  Still, 
these  tortures  of  doubt,  and  uncertainty,  and  hope,  and  de- 
spair served  Richmond  just  exactly  right,  he  argued,  and 
would  teach  him,  if  he  ever  did  find  Georgia,  to  treat  her 
better  for  the  future. 

And  BO,  while  Georgia  was  roaming  over  the  world, 
Richmond  was  rising  to  still  higher  fame  and  eminence  in 
his  native  land ;  and  neither  dreamed  how  each  had 
Marched,  and  sought,  and  sorrowed  ia  Tain  for  the  otker. 


!■■ 


1 

:   1 


^i    i 


J..  : 


'■ 


8M 


AT   LABTt 


CH,\PTER  XXIV. 


AT  last! 


I 


IBBraT 


1  1-    !. 

Hi 

:    1 

111 

1  'vl"^ 

"And  there  was  light  around  her  brow, 
A  holiness  in  thos')  dark  eyes, 
Which  showed,  thoigh  wandering  eailhward  now, 
Her  spiring  home  was  in  the  akieB." 

I  WO  years  had  passed  and  gone. 

It  was  drawing  toward  sunset  of  a  clear, 
bright,  breezy  day,  when  a  crowd  of  people 
"  might  have  been  seen,"  and  were  seen,  too, 

hurrying  down  to  one  of  the  wharves  of  B ,  to  watch  the 

an-ival  of  the  steamer  from  Europe.  Throngs  of  people  who 
had  friends  on  board  came  trooping  down,  and  watched 
with  eager  eyes  the  stately  vessel  as  it  smoked  and  puffed 
its  way,  like  an  apopletic  alderman,  to  the  shore. 

Among  these  lounged  a  young  man,  good-looking  and 
fashionably  dressed,  and  evidently  got  up  regardless  of  ex- 
pense. There  was  a  certain  air  of  self-complacency  about 
hira,  as  he  stroked  a  pair  of  most  desirable  curling  whiskers, 
that  said,  as  plainly  as  words,  he  was  "  somebody,"  and  knew 
it.  Another  young  republican,  puffing  a  cigar,  stood  beside 
him,  and  both  were  watching,  with  the  careless  nonohal- 
.%nc6  of  sovereigns  in  their  own  right,  the  throng  of  foreign* 
trs  that  stood  on  the  steamer's  deck. 

**  A  crowd  there — rather  I"  remarked  the  hero  of  the 
cigar,  as  he  fastidiously  held  it  between  his  finger  and 
fhumb  and  knocked  the  ashes  off  the  end.  "  Our  European 
brethren  have  arrived  in  time  to  see  the  elephant  to  good 


11  < 


AT  LAST  I 


866 


I 


tdTsntage.     Toung  America  will  be  out  in  great  foroe  to- 
night'» 

'*Tc  cheer  the  new  governor — ye-es,"  drawled  the 
other,  as  he,  too,  lighted  a  cigar,  and  began  smoking  like  a 
liying  Vesuvias. 

I 

"  What  a  thing  it  is  to  be  the  people's  favorite — a  man 
of  the  people,  that  style  of  thing,  yon  know — isn't  it,  Cur* 
tis  ?''  said  the  first  speaker. 

^*  I  believe  you  I"  said  Mr.  Curtis,  emphatically,  for  our 
old  friend  it  was.  "  It  is  the  sovereign  people's  pleasure  to 
go  mad  about  their  favorite  just  now,  and,  like  spoiled 
children,  they  must  be  humored.  What  a  thing  the  mob  is, 
to  be  sure  !  They  would  shout  as  heartily  and  with  as  good 
a  will  if  Wildair  were  to  be  hung  to-night  as  inaugurated. 
Since  the  days  when  they  shouted  *  Crucify  Him  !  crucify 
Him  !  Release  unto  us  Barrabas !'  they  have  remained 
unchanged." 

"  I  hope  you  don't  mean  to  insinuate  that  there  is  any 
resemblance  between  the  Jewish  malefactor  and  the  Ameri- 
can governor — eh,  Curtis  ?"  said  his  friend,  laughing. 

**  By  no  means.  Captain  Arlingford.  Wildair  deserves 
his  popularity  ;  he  is  a  great  statesman,  a  real  friend  of  his 
admirers,  the  people,  and  with  genius  enough  to  steer  the 
whole  republic  himself.  He  has  fought  his  way  up  ;  he 
has  fought  for  equal  rights,  liberty,  fraternity,  equality — 
the  French  dodge,  you  know — and  deserves  to  be  what  he 
is,  the  people's  idol.  Never  in  this  good  Yankee  town  was 
a  new  governor  greeted  so  enthusiastically  ;  never  did  the 
mob  shout  themselves  hoarse  with  such  a  right  good  will. 
By  Jove  !  I  envied  him  to-day,  as  he  stood  on  the  balcony 
of  the  hotel,  with  his  hat  off,  while  the  sea  of  human  beingi 
below  ihonted  and  shouted,  until  they  could  shout  no 


i\  • 


i\' 


li 


!    I. 
,1 

I  \ 


1, 


i^i*!  i 


8M 


AT  LABTl 


I 


longer.  It  was  a  reception  fit  for  a  kwig ;  and  never  did  a 
king  look  more  kingly  and  noble  than  at  that  moment  of 
triumph  did  he." 

Captain  Arlingford  laughed. 

'*  Whew  !  there^s  enthusiasm  for  yon !  My  sober, 
steady-headed  friend,  Dick  Curtis,  starting  off  in  this  man- 
ner, and  longing  for  public  popularity  I  I  confess  I  should 
like  to  have  witnessed  his  triumphal  entry  to-day  though. 
I  have  heard  that  the  ladies  absolutely  buried  him  alive  in 
the  showers  of  bouquets  from  the  windows." 

"  Didn't  they  1"  said  Mr.  Curtis  laughing  at  the  recol- 
lection. "  As  his  secretary,  I  sat  in  the  carriage  with  him, 
and,  ^pon  my  honor,  I  was  half  smothered  under  the  load  of 
fragrant  favors.  Such  a  waving  of  cambric  handkerchiefs, 
too,  and  how  the  crowd  doffed  their  hats  and  hurrahed ! 
It  excites  me  even  yet  to  think  of  it ;  but  there  sat  Wildair 
touching  his  chapeau,  and  bowing  right  and  left,  '  with 
that  easy  grace  that  wins  all  hearts,'  to  quote  our  friend  and 
your  admirer.  Miss  Harper,  a  little." 

"  That  last  bill  about  the  people's  rights  did  the  busi- 
ness for  him,"  said  Captain  Arlingford,  meditatively ; 
"  what  a  strong  case  he  made  out  in  their  favor,  and  what  an 
excitement  it  created  !  Well,  it's  a  famous  thing  to  be 
clever,  after  all  ;  I  knew  it  was  in  him,  but  it  might  never 
have  come  out  so  forcibly,  had  it  not  been  for  that  loss  of 
his  two  years  ago.  And  it  appears  sht  is  a  genius  too. 
To  think  she  should  have  painted  that  blood-chilling  pic- 
ture of  Hagar,  and  found  a  brother  in  that  poet,  Randall. 
Don't  things  turn  up  strangely,  Curtis  ?  I  wonder  whera 
she  has  gone,  and  if  she  will  ever  come  back." 

«  Don't  know  1  Like  as  not,"  said  Mr.  Curtis,  senten- 
ti'tmly. 


AT   LAST/ 


XT* 


""Splendid-looking  girl  she  was,  wasn^t  sha,  Car  ..is?** 
oont  naed  Arlingford,  pursuing  his  own  train  of  thought. 

''Magnificent  eyes,  a  step  like  an  empress,  and  the  smile 
of  &n  angel." 

**  Come,  don't  draw  it  quite  so  steep,  mj  gallient  saileur 
boy,"  said  Curtis  ;  "  recollect  you're  speaking  of  another 
man's  wife,  and  that  man  not  a  common  mortal  either,  but 
the  Governor  of  B and  future  President  of  these  Be- 
nighted States.     Besides,  what  would  Miss  Harper  say  ?" 

"  Miss  Harper  be — hanged  I"  exclaimed  Arlingford, 
with  such  impatient  yehemence  that  Curtis  laughed ; 
**  that's  enough  about  her.  Are  you  going  to  the  inaugu- 
ration ball  to-night  ?" 

"  Of  course — what  a  question  I  Do  you  think  they 
could  have  a  ball  fit  to  be  seen  without  the  ?)resence  of  the 
irresistible,  the  fascinating  Richard  ^ii^is,  Esq.,  to  keep  it 
moving?  Do  you  think  any  lady  as  is  a  lady  would  enjoy 
herself  if  I  was  absent  ?  Echo  answers,  *  Of  course,  they 
wouldn't ;'  so  don't  harrow  my  feelings  again  by  such  an- 
other question." 

"  Well,  I  see  humanity  and  vanity  are  not  among  your 
failings.     I  suppose  all  the  elite  of  the  city  will  be  there  ?^ 

"  You  had  better  believe  it.     The  creme  de  la  creme  of 

B .     All  the  beauty,  and  wit,  and  gallantry  of  the  city, 

as  the  newspapers  have  it.  1  have  engaged  with  the  editor 
of  the  Sky  Rocket  to  write  him  an  account  of  the  sayings 
and  doings,  for  a  '  consideration,'  as  the  delicate  phrase 
goes,  which,  being  translated  from  the  original  Hebrew, 
means  that  he  will  puff  our  party  on  every  occasion  and  no 
occasion,  and  if  you  don't  see  '  among  the  guests  was  the 

gallant  young  Captain  A ,  U.  S.  N.,  who  paid  during 

the  evening  the  most  marked  attention  to  the  lovely  and 


!'  1^ 


\\ 


I 


m  AT  LAST! 

iie«!0>iip*l6hed  Miss  H ,  whom  it  is  whispered  he  ws  about 

to  i(;'i/    to  the  hymeneal  altar Hello  t  stop  that  I     I  say, 

Ariingi*  '  "*,  don't  choke  a  fellow  I" 

"  Confound  you  I"  said  Captain  Arlingford,  catching 
him  by  the  collar,  and  fairlv  shaking  the  cigar  out  of  his 
mouth  ;  "  will  you  forever  continue  harping  on  that  string  ? 
I  say,  let's  get  out  of  this  ;  I  hate  to  make  one  in  a  crowd." 

"  No ;  wait,"  said  Curtis,  laughing  and  adjusting  his 
ruffled  plumage.  **  I  want  to  see  if  there  is  any  one  I  know 
on  board  the  steamer  ;  I  expect  some  friends.  Here  come 
the  passeng  '-s.  What  a  wretched,  sea-sick,  sea-green-look- 
ing set.  The  amount  of  contempt  I  have  for  the  ocean  is 
something  appalling." 

**  You  had  better  mind  how  you  express  it  before  me," 
said  Captain  Arlingford,  decidedly.  "  I — ^but  look  there, 
Curtis,  at  that  lady  !  Oh,  ye  gods  and  little  fishes  I  what 
a  Juno  !  Eh  ?  how  ?  what  ?  By  the  Lord  Harry,  Curtis  I" 
he  exclaimed,  springing  up  excitedly,  as  the  lady  in  ques- 
tion turned  her  face  fully  toward  them  ;  "  if  ever  I  saw 
Mrs.  Georgia  Wildair  in  my  life,  there  she  stands  I" 

**  Where  ?  where  ?  where  ?"  fairly  shouted  Curtis,  catch- 
ing him  by  the  arm,  and  staring  round  in  an  excitement  far 
surpassing  his  own.     Where  ?  which  ?  when  ?" 

**  Whither  ?  why  ?  wherefore  ?  "  said  Arlingford,  laugh- 
ing in  spite  of  his  surprise  and  excitement.  "  There,  man 
alive  !  don't  you  see  ?  That  tall  lady  in  black  on  the  deck 
beside  that  intensely  foreign-looking  young  gentleman. 
Why,  where  are  your  eyes  ?  don't  you  see  ?" 

"  I  see  I  I  see  I  It's  she  I  Hip,  hip,  hurrah  I"  shouted 
Mr.  Curtis,  waving  his  hat,  and  electrifying  the  crowd 
around  him,  and  then,  before  Captain  Arlingford  knew 
what  he  was  about,  he  darted   off,  played  in  and  cat 


AT   LAST! 


881 


bont 
say, 

bing 
bis 
ing? 

bis 

now 

some 

look- 

an  is 


through  the  crowd,  dug  bis  elbows  into  the  ribs  of  all  aroand 
him,  and  so  forced  bis  way  aboard  the  steamer,  amid  the 
stifled  shrieks  and  groans,  and  curses  of  his  victims. 

"That's  what  you  call  a  f  mmary  proceeding,"  said 
Captain  Arlingford,  laughing  ;  "  /hat  a  living  galvanic 
battery  that  fellow  is — a  l^.'aa  ..othed  barrel  of  gun- 
powder J  touch  him  and  c^  <e  ^oea  !  Well,  here's  to  fol- 
low his  example/' 

So  saying,  but  in  a  It  Impetuous  manner,  be  made 
his  way  through  the  throng  to  where  stood  a  lady,  "  beau- 
tiful exceedingly,"  and  dressed  entirely  in  black,  after  the 
fashion  of  the  Spanish  Creoles,  for  one  of  whom,  in  her 
dark,  rich  beauty,  she  might  easily  have  been  mistaken. 

"  Mrs.  Wildair  I  Good  gracious,  Mrs.  Wildair,  how  do 
you  do  ?'*  exclaimed  a  breathless  voice.  "  To  think  that 
you  should  come  this  day  of  all  days  !  Oh,  scissors ! 
Well,  I  am  glad  to  see  yon  !  Upon  my  word  and  honor, 
I  am." 

"  Mr.  Curtis  I**  exclaimed  the  lady,  with  a  little  cry  of 
surprise  and  delight.  "  Why,  what  an  unexpected  pleas- 
ure to  meet  you  here  !  Dear  Mr.  Curtis,  how  glad  I  am  to 
see  you  I*' 

"  So  am  I,  just  as  glad  T'  said  Mr.  Curtis,  seizing  the 
little  hand  she  extended,  and  wringing  it  until  she  winced. 
"  Good  gracious  I  to  think  of  it  How  do  you  do  ?  Well, 
if  it  isn't  the  most  unexpected — to  think  that  you  should 
come  home  to-day  of  all  days  !  Good  gra — Hey  ?  what 
now  ?" 

A  vigorous  slap  on  the  shoulder  that  staggered  him,  as 
well  it  might,  had  jerked  the  last  words  oat  of  him,  and 
turning  fiercely  round,  he  saw  the  laughing  face  of  the 
lady's  companion  turned  toward  him. 


II 


I'. 


IB 


P 


800 


AT  LA8TI 


i  1H  ' 


"  Why,  Curtis,  old  fellow,  have  yon  t  greetibg  for  no 
one  bat  Georgia  ?  Come,  you  have  shook  her  hand  long 
enongh  ;  try  mine  now." 

"  Randall,  my  boy,  how  goes  it  ?  Well,  I  am  glad,  and 
no  mistake.  Good  gracious  I  what  the  mischief  kept  you 
so  long  in  those  barbarous  foreign  parts,  anyhow  ?'* 

"  Don't  know,  really,"  said  Mr.  Randall,  laughing  at  his 
vehemence  ;  **  the  time  passed  almost  imperceptibly.  But 
you — what  brings  you  here  ?  I  thought  you  were  in  New 
York." 

"  Well,  I  am  not,  though  you  mayn't  believe  it.  Hello  I 
Guess  who  this  is,  Mrs.  Wildair  ?" 

"  Captain  Arlingford  I"  exclaimed  Georgia,  delightedly, 
holding  out  her  hand  ;  then,  as  the  recollections  of  the  past 
arose,  the  color  mounted  for  an  instant  to  her  very  temples. 

"  Yes,  marm  ;  nothing  shorter,"  said  Curtis,  rubbing 
his  hands  gleefully.  "  Je-rusalem  !  only  to  think  of  it  ! 
Well,  the  astonishing  way  things  will  persist  in  turning 
up  !  Just  to  think  of  it  Why,  it*s  like  a  thing  in  a  play 
or  a  novel.    Now,  isn't  it,  Arlingford  ?" 

"  What  I  our  coming  home?"  said  Randall.  "  What  do 
you  see  so  extraordinary  about  that,  Curtis  ?" 

"  No,  it  is  not  that,"  said  Mr.  Curtis,  chuckling  ;  "  it*s 
the  remarkable  coincidence  of  your  coming  to-day  of  all 
days — not  you,  but  your  sister.  There,  don't  ask  me  now, 
everybody's  looking — a  set  of  ill-mannered  snipes.  Arling- 
ford, run  and  call  a  coach,  there's  a  good  boy,  and  I'll  tell 
Mrs.  Wildair  all  aboat  it.  Good  gracious  !  if  it  isn't  the 
funniest  thing  I" 

Mr.  Curtis'  excitement  and  deiight,  as  he  danced  up  and 
down,  rubbing  his  hands  and  chuckling,  were  so  irresistible 
that  all  three,  after  watching  him  an  instant,  barst  into  an 


AT   LAST  I 


an 


immoderate  fit  of  laughter,  and,  beholding  his  look  »f  dis- 
mayed surprise,  laughed  until  the  tears  stood  in  their  eyes. 

"Ehl  why,  what  the what  are   you   laughing  at? 

Don't  act  so,  don't ;  everybody's  looking,  and  they'll  think 
you're  crazy,"  said  Mr  Curtis,  imploringly.  "  Wait  a 
minute.  Til  call  a  coach  myself — you  just  hold  on." 

Off  darted  Mr.  Curtis,  leaving  them  still  laughing  and 
unable  to  stop,  and  ere  five  minutes  he  was  back,  and 
whipped  them  off  like  a  living  whirlwind — pushed  them 
into  a  coach,  jumped  in  after,  and  banged  the  door. 

"  Dixon's  Hotel !"  he  bawled  to  the  driver,  and  away 
they  rattled  over  the  pavement. 

•*  Now  we're  comfortable,"  said  Mr.  Curtis,  surveying 
them  complacently,  "  and,  only  for  me,  you  might  have 
stood  there  all  night,  for  coaches  are  in  demand,  and  hardly 
to  be  got  for  love  or  money.  Oh,  Jehosaphat  I  just  to  think 
of  it !  why  it's  droll  P"*  said  Mr.  Curtis,  thrusting  his  hands 
into  his  pockets,  and,  as  the  absurdity  of  it  struck  him  for 
the  first  time  he  leaned  back  in  the  carriage,  and  burst  into 
a  peal  of  laughter  that  was  perfectly  terrific,  and  from  the 
effect  of  which  he  did  not  recover  until  they  reached  the 
hotel. 

"  It's  lucky  for  you,  in  more  ways  than  one,  that  yoQ 
met  me,"  said  Mr.  Curtis,  as  he  got  out  and  offered  Gleor- 
gia  his  arm,  "  for  the  city's  full,  and  you  wouldn*t  have  got 
a  room  in  a  hotel  from  one  end  of  it  to  the  other — no,  not 
if  yon  went  on  your  two  blessed,  bended  knees  and  prayed 
for  it.  Here,  these  rooms  were  engaged  for  the  governor 
and  his  suite,  and  this  is  mine,  and  is  quite  at  your  disposal, 
Mrs.  Wildair." 

<'  But,  oh  !  Mr.   Curtis,  I  camiot  think  of  depriying 

you ** 

1« 


AT   LA8TI 


'm 

1 

1 

^' 

! 

\m 

"Tbero — not  a  word!  not  a  word!*  said  Mr.  Cartii, 
briskly,  as  he  ushered  them  into  a  sumptuotlsly  famished 
apartment.  *'  Til  camp  with  somebody  else.  An  J  now  the 
very  first  thing  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  dress  and  oome  te 
the  ball  to-night." 

**  The  ball !     What  ball  ?"  said  Georgia,  in  surprise. 

"  "Wuy  the  inauguration  ball,  to  be  sure  1  Oh,  I  forgot 
you  (lid  not  know.     Well,   then,  the  astoniuLing  news  is, 

that  Mr.  Richmond  Wildair  has  this  day  entered  B as 

its  governor !  Now  don*t  faint,  Mrs.  Wildair,  because  I 
won't  understand  your  case.  And,  as  usual,  there  is  to  be 
a  ball,  and  I  want  you  to  come  and  be  presented  to  his  ex- 
cellency the  governor." 

Georgia  had  no  intention  of  fainting.  A  flush  of  pride, 
and  triumph,  and  delight,  lit  up  her  face,  and,  with  the  step 
of  a  queen,  she  arose  and  paced  up  and  down  the  room. 

*^  And  so  he  has  been  elected,"  said  Mr.  Randall,  thoaght- 
fully.    "  I  knew  he  would  rise  rapidly." 

"  What  says  Georgia — will  you  go  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  with  a  radiant  smile. 

"  Hooray!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Curtis  ;  "  Mrs.  Wildair,  you're 
a  brick  I  Maybe  Mr.  Wildair  won*t  be  astonished  some,  if 
not  more,  and  a  UetU  delighted  !  It*s  getting  dark  fast, 
and  I  ought  to  be  off  to  the  executive  mansion ;  but  1*11 
let  etiquette  go  be  hanged  for  once,  and  wait  for  you. 
Ton  had  better  have  tea  in  your  own  room,  Mrs.  W. ; 
sha^n't  I  ring  ?  It  will  take  you  two  or  three  hours  to 
dress,  you  know — it  always  does  take  a  lady  that  long,  I 
believe.     Here,  my  man,  supper  for  four  up  here  ;  be  sprj 


now. 


n 


It  was  impossible  to  be  serious  and  watch  Curtis,  as  he 
flew  round  impetuously,  asking  a  thousand  questions  in  a 


AT  LABTI 


MM 


18. 


breath  aboat  what  they  had  seen  abroad,  and  then  Jiter- 
rupting  them   in  the  middle  of  the  ajswer  to   tell   them 
Bomething  about  Richmond,  that  had  not  the  slightett  bear 
ing  on  the  matter. 

In  his  excitemeDt  he  found  it  impossible  to  sit  still,  bot 
kept  flying  round  the  room,  rubbing  his  hands  in  an  ecstaoy 
of  delight,  and  laughing  uproariously  as  he  thought  of  the 
Bupprise  in  store  for  the  young  governor.  During  supper 
be  monopolized  the  whole  conversation  himself,  and  kept 
the  others  in  fits  of  laughter,  while  his  look  of  innocent 
astonishment  at  their  mirth  would,  as  Captain  Arliugford 
said,  "  make  a  horn-bug  laugh." 

After  tea  the  gentlemen  took  themselves  off  to  dress, 
and  Georgia's  maid,  who  had  arrived,  remained  to  superin* 
tend  her  mistress'  toilet.  Those  two  years  of  absence  had 
restored  the  bright  bloom  to  Georgia's  dark  face,  but  the 
old  flashing  light  had  left  her  dark  eyes,  and  in  its  place 
was  a  sweetness,  subdued,  gentle,  and  far  more  lovely. 
The  haughtily  curling  lips  were  tender  and  placid,  the 
queenly  brow  calm  and  serene,  the  dark,  beautiful  face 
almost  seraphic  with  its  look  of  inward  peace.  Oh,  far 
imore  sweet,  and  tender,  and  lovable  was  the  Georgia  of 
to-day  than  the  haughty,  fiery,  pii^iiHioiiaie  Georgia  of  other 
years  I  As  she  stood  before  the  mirror,  in  her  rich,  showy 
robe  of  gold-oolored  satin,  under  rare  old  v^c  nt  lace,  with 
diamonds  flashing  in  rivers  of  light  around  her  curving 
throat,  flashing  in  her  small  ears,  gleaming  in  her  mi<i night 
hair,  and  glittering  and  scintillating  like  sparks  of  tire  on 
her  rounded  arms  and  small  dark  fingers,  she  looked  every 
inch  a  princess,  a  "queen  of  noble  Nature's  crowning." 

And  »9  thought  the  gentlemen  as  they  entered,  in  full 
dress — in  "  glorious  array,"  as  Mr.  Curtis  pompotitly  said 


i 


aQ4 


AT  last: 


fi     \ 


*4 


I     '    * 


— if  one  might  jadge  by  her  brother*6  look  oi  pride  aad 
pleasure,  Captain  Arlingford's  glance  of  intense  admiratioOi 
and  Mr.  Curtis'  burst  of  rapture. 

"  Why,  you're  looking  splendid,  absolutely  splendid, 
you  know  ;  something  quite  stunning,  Mrs.  Wildair  1  Ah ! 
I  should  like  to  be  as  good-looking  as  you.  I  never  saw 
you  looking  so  well  before.     Now,  did  you,  Randall  ?" 

'"  Georgia  ie  looking  her  best,"  said  Mr.  Randall,  smiling. 

*'  Looking  her  best  I  I  guess  so !  It's  astonishing  how 
handsome  women  can  make  themselves  when  they  choose. 
Now,  I  might  try  till  I  was  black  in  the  face,  and  still  I 
would  be  the  old  two-and-sixpence  at  the  end.  I  wish  I 
knew  the  secret.  Suppose  we  go  now  ;  we're  behind  time 
three  quarters  of  an  bop?  as  it  is.  Ihe  carriage  is  waiting, 
Mrs.  Wildair." 

"  I  am  qui^e  at  your  service,  Mr.  Curtis,"  said  Georgia, 
flinging  a  shawl  over  her  shoulders,  and  trying  to  smile, 
but  her  heart  was  throbbing  so  rapidly  that  she  leaned 
against  the  table  for  a  moment,  sick  and  faint. 

Who,  when  about  to  meet  a  dear  friend  from  whom  she 
had  been  long  separated,  does  not  feel  a  sort  of  dread 
mmgling  with  her  pleasure,  lest  she  should  find  him 
changed,  altered,  cold,  different  from  what  she  had  known 
him  in  other  years? 

So  felt  Georgia  as  she  took  her  seat  in  the  carriage  and 
was  whirled  as  rapidly  as  the  crowded  state  of  the  streets 
would  admit  toward  the  executive  mansion.  Her  color 
came  and  went-  now  that  the  crisis  was  at  hand,  and  the 
loud  beating  of  her  heart  could  almost  be  heard,  as  she  lay 
back  among  the  cushions,  trembling  with  excitement  and 
conflicting  emotions. 

A  gay  Hoene  the  streets  presented  that  night.    NoTSf 


AT   LABT! 


bad  a  goyernor  received  such  an  ovation  as  I  ad  this  jronng 
demi-god  of  the  dear  public.  Eyery  boase  was  illaminated 
from  attic  to  basement  ;  flags  were  flying  ;  arches  had  been 
erected  for  him  to  pass  under,  as  if  it  were  the  reception  of 
a  prince.  Thousands  of  gayly  dressed  people  thronged  tha 
pavements,  bands  were  out  playing  triumphant  marches, 
and  an  immense  crowd  congregated  around  the  governor's 
house,  watching  the  different  carriages  as  they  passed, 
bearing  their  freight  of  magnificently  dressed  ladies  on 
their  way  to  the  ball.  But  not  to  behold  them  was  the 
dense  crowd  waiting,  but  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  young 
governor  when  he  should  arrive. 

As  the  carriage  conveying  our  party  approached  the 
arched  gate- way  of  the  executive  mansion  it  was  stop])ed, 
blocked  up  by  a  crowd  of  other  carriages.  The  people  had 
pressed  before,  and  it  was  in  vain  they  tried  to  get  on. 
Drivers  swore,  and  shouted,  and  vociferated,  the  mob 
laughed  and  bandied  jokes,  gentlemen  in  commanding  tones 
gave  orders  that  were  either  unheard  or  impossible  to  be 
obeyed,  and  a  perfect  Babel  of  confusion  reigned. 

"  Come,  this  won't  do,  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Curtis,  "  we 
must  get  on  somehow.  Here,  yon  fellows,"  he  said,  thrust- 
ing his  head  out  of  the  window,  "  get  out  of  the  way,  I 
want  to  pass.     Fm  the  governor's  secreta:/,  and  must  get 


<    \ 


» 


on. 

A  derisive  laugh  from  a  group  near  followed,  and  a 
voice  in  the  crowd  inquired  anxiously  whether  his  mother 
had  many  more  like  him,  and  also  whether  that  venerable 
lady  was  aware  that  he  was  out. 

Mr.  Curtis  showed  symptoms  of  getting  into  a  passion 
at  this,  but  his  voice  was  drowned  in  a  cry  from  a  band  •! 
loafera  near,  who  shonted  r 


II 


366 


AT   LA8Tt 


I    1 


,11 


I    \ 


"  We  want  to  see  the  governor  t  Yon  won^t  pass  tiii  we 
•ee  the  governor  !** 

There  was  a  plain  dark  carriage  right  in  front  of  them« 
and  now  the  glass  was  let  down,  and  a  clear,  commanding 
voice,  that  rang  oat  above  all  the  din,  calmly  said  : 

"  I  am  the  governor !  Stand  aside,  my  friends,  and  let 
me  pass  !** 

That  voice  !  Georgia  half-sprang  from  her  seat,  and 
then  fell  back. 

Such  a  cry  as  arose — snch  a  mighty  shout,  at  the  voice 
of  their  favorite  !  The  crowd  swayed  to  and  fro  in  their 
struggles  to  get  near.  The  driver  whipped  up  his  horses, 
a  passage  was  cleared,  and  carriage  after  carriage  passed 
on  and  entered  the  crowded  court-yard. 

"  Hurrah  for  Wildair  I  Hurrah  for  Wildair  I  Hurrah  I 
Hurrah  I  Hubbah  for  Wildair  1*'  shouted  the  crowd,  till 
the  welkin  rang. 

"Hurrj^h  for  Richmond  Wildair — the  Man  op  thb 
People  I"  exclaimed  a  loud  voice,  and  instantly  the  cry 
was  taken  up,  and  "  Hurrah  !  hurrah  I  hurrah  I'^  rang  oat 
like  the  roar  of  the  sea. 

And  now  on  the  balcony,  clearly  revealed  in  the  light  of 
myriads  of  lamps,  stood  the  kingly  form  of  Richmond  Wil- 
dair himself,  his  princely  brow  uncovered,  his  calm,  com- 
manding face  looking  down  on  them,  as  a  king  might  on 
his  subjects. 

And  then  once  again  arose  the  mighty  shout,  "  Hurrah 
for  Wildair  I  Hurrah  for  Wildair  I  Hurrah  for  the  Friend 
of  the  People  !"  until,  hoarse  with  shouting,  the  swaying 
multitude  relapsed  into  silence. 

And  then,  clear,  calm,  and  earnest,  arose  the  oommancl* 
iug  voice  of  their  favorite,  as  he  addressed  thenu 


AT  LABT! 


Wt 


let 


A  dead  silence  fell  on  that  great  cri>wd  the  moment  hia 
Int  word  was  heard.  Short,  and  well  chosen,  and  to  the 
point,  was  his  speech  ;  and  hats  flew  off,  and  again  and 
again  the  hoarse  cheers  of  his  listeners  interrupted  him. 
Having  thanked  them  for  the  enthusiastic  reception  they 
had  given  him,  he  begged  them  to  disperse  for  the  present, 
and  then,  having  bowed  once  more,  he  retired. 

With  three  times  three  for  the  speaker  they  obeyed, 
and,  save  a  few  who  remained  to  watch  the  brilliantly 
illaminated  mansion  and  listen  to  the  music  of  the  band, 
the  crowd  soon  dispersed  through  the  thronged  streets. 

"  There's  popularity  for  you  I"  said  Mr.  Curtis,  as  with 
Georgia  leaning  on  his  arm  he  entered  the  brilliant  ball- 
room, blazing  with  lights  and  crowded  with  splendidly 
attired  ladies.  "  I  should  admire  to  see  them  cheering  mo 
that  way.  How  would  it  sound,  I  wonder?  Hurrah  for 
Curtis  1    That's  not  bad,  is  it,  Mrs.  Wildair  ?" 

She  did  not  reply — she  did  not  hear  him.  Her  eyes 
were  wandering  through  the  glittering  throng  in  search  of 
one,  the  <* bright,  particular  star"  of  the  evening.  Yes, 
there  he  was,  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room,  surrounded  by 
a  throng  of  the  most  distinguished  there,  bowing,  and  shak- 
ing hands,  and  smiling,  and  chatting  with  the  ladies.  She 
•trove  to  calm  herself  and  listen  to  what  her  companion 
was  saying,  but  in  vain,  until  the  mention  of  Richmond's 
name  attracted  her  attention. 

*'  I  won't  bring  you  over  among  that  crowd,"  he  was 
saying  ; "  V\\  wait  till  he's  a  little  disengaged.  They'll  begin 
daacing  presently,  and  then  the  coast  will  'oe  clear.  Just 
see  how  everybody  is  looking  at  you  and  whispering  to  one 
another.    I  guess  they  would  like  to  know  who  you  ar« 


I 


AT  LABTI 


^>. 


just  now.    Ah !  what  would  you  give  to  know  f^  said  Mr 
Curtis,  making  a  grimace  at  the  crowd. 

And  now  an  audible  whisper  might  have  been  heard 
among  the  throng : 

"  Who  is  she  ?  ob,  who  is  she  f — that  beautiful  girl  with 
Mr.  Curtis.     I  never  saw  her  before." 

**  Nor  I.  Nor  I.  Who  can  she  be  ?'*  ran  around  the 
room.  "  Uow  distingue  she  is  I  how  surpassingly  beautiful  \ 
and  how  magniticentiy  dressed  !  ^'  Oh,  £  must  get  an 
introduction.  See,  he  is  bringmg  her  up  now  to  present 
her  to  the  governor.  1*11  ask  him  to  introduce  me.  She  is 
certainly  destined  to  be  the  belle  of  the  evening." 

Meantime  two  or  three  quadrilles  had  formed,  and  the 
group  surrounding  the  governor  had  thinned,  and  he  was 
left  as  much  alone  as  he  was  likely  to  be  during  the  even- 
ing. Leaning  against  a  marble  pillar,  he  stood  talking  to 
a  starred  and  ribboned  foreigner,  and  when  (Jurtis  ap- 
proached with  Georgia,  he  was  so  engrossed  with  the  topio 
they  were  discussing  that  he  did  not  observe  him  until  his 
voice  fell  on  her  ear. 

'*  Mrs.  Wildair,  your  excellency  !"  said  Mr.  Curtis,  in 
the  most  emphatic  of  voices,  standing  right  before  him. 

He  started  up,  staggered  back,  grew  deadly  pale,  and 
grasped  the  marble  pillar  for  support. 

Yes,  there  before  him,  radiant  in  her  beauty,  with 
sere^je  brow  and  ctilm  smUe,  stood  his  long-lost  wife— fact 
to  im%  at  laat  1 


II  'I 


**  AFTER    TSAR8   AND    WEEPING: 


r 

d 

;h 

la 
f 

n 

kit 

is 

le 

1- 
bo 

P- 

io 

is 
Id 
id 
Ji 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

*'  ArrBB    TBABS    AND  WSBPINO,  UB    POUBBTH    Ul    JC  TVUV 


» 


NESS. 

**Do  not  spurn  me  in  my  prayer, 

For  this  wand^riog  ever  longer,  evermori, 
Hath  overworn  me, 

And  I  krow  not  on  what  shore 
I  may  rest  Irom  my  despair."  BBOWimiCb 

|ROM  his  pale  lips  dropped  one  word  : 
"  Georgia  !" 

"  Dearest  Kichmond/'  she  said,  iooWag  np 
in  his  face  with  her  radiant  eyes. 
"  Oh,  Georgia,  my  wronged  wife,  can  you  ever  forgive 
me  ?"  he  cried,  passionately. 

**  I  have  nothing  to  fo)  ve,  my  husband,^  ehe  said, 
sweetly.     "It  is  I  who  shouMi  be  forgiven  " 

"  Oh,  Georgia,  where  h  e  you  been?  Do  I  really  see 
yon,  or  do  I  dream  ?  Sc  en  have  I  dreamed  you  were 
restored,  and  woke  to  find  it  a  dream.  Is  this  a  delusion 
like  the  rest?" 

"  Shake  hands,  and  see.*' 

She  held  out  hers  with  a  smile,  and  he  took  it,  and 
gazed  into  her  face  with  a  doubtful,  troubled  look. 

"  Yes,  it  is  Georgia  ;  it  must  be  she  ;  the  same,  yet  lO 
different.  You  never  looked  like  this  in  the  days  gone 
past,  Georgia." 

"  I  have  been  new-bom  since,"  she  said,  with  a  serene 
smile.     "  You  shall  learn  all  soon,  Richmond.    Do  yo» 
know  I  have  come  to  stay  now  ?" 
16* 


910 


**  AFTER    TEAB8   AND    WBEPINQ* 


M. 


"  See  here,  Mr.  Wildair,"  said  Curtis,  giving  him  a  poke 
**  don*t  you  keep  looking  so ;  everybody's  staring  and 
whispering,  and  our  friend  here,  Whiskerando,"  pointing  to 
the  starred  foreigner,  "  looks  as  if  he  thought  he  had  got 
into  a  lunatic  asylum  by  mistake.  You  take  Georgia— I 
mean  Mrs.  Wildair — off  into  that  conservatory,  for  in- 
ttance,  where  you  can  stare  at  her  to  your  heart's  content, 
ftnd  learn  all  the  particulars  since  she  cut  her  lucky — I  mean 
iince  she  ran  off  and  left  you  in  the  lurch.  Go  ;  I  know  it 
wil^  take  you  an  hour,  at  least,  to  settle  matters,  and  beg 
each  other's  pardon,  and  smoke  the  pipe  of  peace,  and  so  on ; 
and,  meantime,  as  it  is  necessary  the  company  should  know 
who  it  is,  I'll  whisper  it  as  a  great  secret  into  the  ear  of  the 
first  lady  I  meet,  and  get  her  to  promise  not  to  telL 
There  I  vanish  I" 

Passing  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  as  if  to  dispel  a  mist, 
Richmond  offered  her  his  arm  and  led  her  toward  the  con- 
servatory, followed  by  the  wondering  eyes  of  the  guests. 

But  Mr.  Curtis  had  no  need  to  tell.  Miss  Harper  was 
there,  and  recognized  her  with  a  suppressed  shriek  ;  and  in 
ftn  instant  after,  like  wild-fire,  it  ran  through  the  room 
that  this  dark,  beautiful  stranger  was  the  mysterious  wife 
of  Mr.  Wildair. 

Dancing  was  no  longer  thought  of.  Everybody  flocked 
ftronnd  Mr.  Curtis,  and  such  an  avalanche  of  questions  as 
was  showered  upon  him  human  ears  never  listened  to  before. 
Had  he  possessed  a  thousand  tongues  he  could  hardly  have 
Answered  one-half.  But  he  did  not  try  to  answer  them. 
Mr.  Dick  Curtis  was  a  sensible  young  man,  and  never  at- 
tempted impossibilities ;  so  he  only  folded  his  arms  and 
looked  around  him  complacently,  listening  with  the  pro- 
f  oundest  attention  to  all,  but  answering  never  a  word ;  until, 


"AFTER    TEARS    AND    WBEPINO." 


•71 


at  last,  when  quite  tired  and  breathless,  there  was  a  pause^ 
he  lifted  up  his  voice  and  spoke  : 

**  Ladies  and  gentlemen  :  On  the  present  interesting 
and  facetious  occasion  allow  me  to  say — (ahem !) — to 
say " 

[Here  a  voice  in  the  crowd,  that  of  Mr.  Henry  Qleason, 
if  you  remember  that  young  gentleman,  reader,  interrupted 
with,  "  You  have  said  it  1    Push  along,  old  boy  I"] 

"To  say,*'  pursued  Mr.  Curtis,  casting  a  withering 
glance  at  the  speaker  '  is  that  very  polite  youth,  whoever 
he  may  be,  has  falsely  informed  you  I  have  already  said, 
that  Mr.  Wildair,  his  excellency,'*  said  Mr.  Curtis,  with  a 
dignified  wave  of  his  hand, "  has  commissioned  me  to  say — 
I  beg  your  pardon,  sir ;  youVe  standing  on  that  lady's  dress 
— to  say  that  the  lady  you  beheld  this  evening  is  his  wife, 
who  has  been  indulging  in  a  little  trip  to  Europe  with  his — 
(ahem  1) — full  approbation^  while  he  was  seeing  after  the 
great,  glorious,  and  immortal  Union  in  Washington,  and 
scattering  political  oats — to  use  a  figure  of  speech — ^before 
that  tremendous  bird,  the  American  eagle ;  and  the  lady 
arriving  quite  promiscuously,  if  I  may  be  allowed  so  strong 
an  expression,  he  was  slightly  surprised  to  see  her — (ahem!) 
— as  you  all  perceived,  and  has  just  gone  to  have  a  little 
friendly  chat  with  her  over  family  matters  and  kitchen 
cabinet  affairs  generally.  And  so,  ladies  and  gentlemen," 
concluded  Mr.  Curtis,  laying  his  kid  glove  on  his  heart  and 
bowing  gracefully,  "  I  hope  his  temporary  absence  will  not 
plunge  you  into  too  deep  afiiiction,  or  cause  you  to  feel  too 
dreadfully  cut  up,  but  that  you  will  set  seriously  to  work 
and  enjoy  yourselves,  while  I  represent  his  excellency,  and 
during  his  absence  receive  your  homage.  And  to  conclude, 
in  the  words  of  Demosthenes,  the  great  Latin  poet,  who 


I    I 


872 


**  AFTER    TEARS    AJSD     WEEPlNOr 


beautifully  observes,  *  E  Pluribus  Unum,^  a  remark  whiob 
I  hope  none  of  you  will  consider  personal,  for  I  solemnly 
assure  you  it  was  not  meant  to  be,  as  I  haven't  the  re- 
motest idea  of  what  it  means.  If  any  futher  particulars 
are  needed,*'  said  Mr.  Curtis,  drawing  hinself  up,  and  cast- 
ing another  glance  of  withering  scorn  upon  Mr.  Henry 
Gleason,  "  I  must  refer  you  to  the  young  gentleman  wiio 
was  good  enough  to  interrupt  me,  and  who  stands  there 
now,  a  mark  for  the  finger  of  scorn  to  poke  fun  at.  Ladies 
and  gentleman,  I  have  spoken  !     Long  may  it  wave." 

And  with  this  last  "  neat  and  appropriate  "  quotation, 
Mr.  Curtis  bowed  and  blushingly  retired,  leaving  his  au- 
dience in  convulsions  of  laughter,  for  his  unspeakably  droll 
look  and  solemn  tone  no  pen  can  describe.  It  had  the 
good  effect,  however,  of  diverting  their  attention  from  Mr. 
Wildair  and  his  wife  for  the  present ;  and  Mr.  Curtis  the 
center  of  a  laughing  group,  while  his  own  face  maintained 
its  expression  of  most  doleful  gravity,  became  for  the  time 
being  the  lion  of  the  hour.  With  edifying  meekness  did 
Mr.  Curtis  stand,  "  his  blushing  honors  thick  upon  him," 
until  getting  rather  tired  of  it,  he  made  a  signal  to  the  band 
to  strike  up,  and  selecting  Miss  Arlingford  for  hJs  partner, 
a  quadrille  was  formed  and  dancing  commenced  with  real 
earnestness,  and  the  business  of  the  evening  might  be  said 
to  have  begun. 

But  when  an  hour  passed  and  the  lady  whose  entrM 
had  created  such  a  sensation  did  not  appear,  impatient 
glance'  began  to  be  cast  toward  the  conservatory,  and 
petulai.  vhispers  to  circulate,  and  pouting  lips  wondered 
why  t  did  not  come.  In  vain  Mr.  Curtis  was  "  funny  ;" 
his  popularity  was  waning  as  fabt  as  it  had  risen,  and  it 
was  all  a  waste  of  ammunition.    His  jokes  were  unattended 


AFTER    TEARS    AND     WESPINO: 


S78 


tO|  hi^  pons  were  anlaughed  at,  his  most  dolorous  looks 
had  no  effect  on  the  risibles  of  any,  except  those  who  had 
a  very  keen  sense  of  tbd  ludicrous.  At  last,  in  disgust  at 
the  fickleness  of  public  favor,  he  got  dignified  and  impo8< 
ing,  and  that  had  the  effect  of  making  sundry  compressed 
lips  smile  right  out  loud,  but  it  is  uncertain  whether  evet 
this  would  have  lasted  any  time  had  not,  suddenly,  Rich- 
mond Wildair  appeared  with  his  wife  leaning  on  his  arm. 

In  an  instant  a  profound  hush  of  expectation  reigned 
throughout  the  room  ;  the  music  instantaneously  stopped  ; 
the  dancers  one  and  all  paused,  and  every  eye  was  bent 
upon  them.  A  low,  respectful  murmur  of  admiration  ran 
round  the  room  at  her  queen  like  beauty,  but  it  lasted  only 
an  instant,  and  all  was  again  still. 

"  My  friends,"  said  the  clear,  powerful  voice  that  a  short 
time  before  had  dispersed  the  surging  crowd,  "  this  lady, 
as  you  are  all  probably  aware,  is  my  wife.  There  is  not 
one  here  who  has  not  heard  a  thousand  vague,  floating 
rumors  why  we  were  separated,  and  now  I  feel  it  necessary 
to  say  a  few  words  of  explanation,  and  silence  the  tongue 
of  scandal  forever.  A  misunderstanding,  slight  and  un- 
important at  first,  such  as  will  arise  at  times  in  all  families, 
was  the  cause.  No  blame,  not  the  faintefit  shadow  of 
blame,  attaches  to  this  lady  ;  if  blame  there  be,  it  soley 
belongs  to  me.  A  mutual  explanation  and  a  perfect  recon- 
ciliation have  ensued,  and  if  any  one  for  the  future  shall 
canvass  the  motives  which  caused  us  for  a  brief  time  to 
part,  I  will  consider  that  person  my  willful  enemy.  Ladies 
and  gentlemen,  lot  this  pleasant  but  unexpected  incident 
not  interfere  with  the  amusements  of  the  evening  and  ai 
example  is  better  than  precept,  I  shall  join  yon.  Come, 
Georgia." 


974 


"AFIJLA    TEARS    AlfD    WEBPINO,'' 


n 


He  motioned  to  the  musicians,  and  the  daooers  again 
formed,  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wildair  at  their  head.  And 
then,  when  the  quadrille  was  ended,  all  came  flocking  round 
to  be  presented  to  his  beautiful  wife,  whose  Juno-like 
beauty  and  grace  was  the  theme  of  every  tongue.  And  for 
the  remainder  of  the  evening  *'  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage 
bell."  If  anything  were  wanting  to  add  eclat  to  the  in- 
auguration of  the  new  governor  this  supplied  it,  and  every 
one  grew  perfectly  enthusiastic  about  the  gifted  young 
statesman  and  his  beautiful  wife.  So  romantic  and  myste- 
rious as  it  all  was,  "  just  like  something  in  a  play  or  a 
novel,"  as  Mr.  Curtis  said,  that  the  excitement  it  created 
was  perfectly  unl\eard  of,  and  when  the  ball  broke  up  and 
the  company  dispersed,  in  the  "  wee  sma'  hours  ayout  the 
twal,'  they  even  forgot  they  were  sleepy  and  tired,  and 
talked  away  of  the  unexpected  denouementj  and  electrified 
their  friends  when  they  got  home  with  the  wonderful  news. 

"  And  now,  Georgia,"  said  Richmond,  "  tell  me  what 
has  changed  you  so.  I  can  scarcely  tell  how  it  is,  but  it 
seems  as  if  you  were  the  Georgia  I  once  knew  etherealized 
— the  spiritual  essence  of  Georgia  Darrell ;  as  if  you  had 
cast  off  a  slough  and  stepped  forth  radiant,  serene,  seraphic." 

"  Flatterer  I"  said  Georgia,  smiling,  yet  serious,  too. 
*'  But  oh,  Richmond  I  I  fear  yon  will  be  angry  when  I  tell 
you." 

"Angry  at  anything  that  has  made  you  just  what  / 
wanted,  just  what  I  tried  to  make  you  and  failed  I  Not  I, 
Georgia.  Tell  me  what  elixir  of  happiness  and  inward  joy 
have  you  found." 

"  One  without  price,  and  yet  one  free  to  all — to  the  king 
and  to  the  beggar  alike." 


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"  And  yet  hitherto  it  has  been  beyond  my  reach.  Tell 
me  what  it  is,  sweet  wife,  that  I  may  drink  and  live,  100.** 

"  Oh,  Richmond,  if  you  would — if  you  only  would  !** 
•he  said,  catching  her  breath. 

"Why  should  I  not  ?    Name  it,  Georgia." 

**  It  is  called  Faiths  Richmond." 

He  looked  up  reverentially,  and  his  face  was  very  grave. 

"  I  think  I  know  ;  and  yet,  hitherto  it  has  been  only  a 
word  to  me.  I  have  seen  it  personified  in  two — in  your 
little  friend  Emily,  and  in — " 

He  paused  and  his  face  worked. 

"  In  whom,  Richmond  ?" 

**  In  Charley.  Oh,  Charley  I  oh,  my  brother  I"  he  cried, 
in  passionate  tones  as  he  began  pacing  rapidly  up  and  down. 

The  irrepressible  cry  reminded  Oeorgia  of  that  other 
day  long  ago  when  he  had  received  the  letter  in  which  he 
learned  all.  At  the  mention  of  that  name,  Georgia  too  rose, 
pale  and  trembling,  from  her  seat. 

"  And  have  you  seen  him  ?  Oh,  Richmond  I  haT6  yov 
Been  him?'* 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  hoarsely. 

"  And  where  is  he  ?  Richmond — oh,  Richmond,  do  not 
look  so  !     Charley,  your  brother — where  is  he,  Richmond  ?** 

"  In  heaven,  Gteorgia." 

She  fell  back  in  her  seat,  and  covered  her  face  with  her 
bands. 

"  Dead  t  Oh,  Charley !  and  I  not  there  I"  she  cried, 
while  her  tears  fell  fast. 

"  Weep  not,  Georgia,"  said  Richmond,  gently  removing 
her  hands  ;  "  his  death  was  the  death  of  the  just.  May  my 
last  end  be  like  unto  his." 

But  still  she  wept  hot,  gushing  tears  that  would  not  be 


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"AFTER    TEARS   AND     WEEPING.* 


stayed — tears  that  fell,  not  wildly,  hut  that  came  from  the 
heart,  and  were  sanctified  to  the  memory  of  the  early  dead. 
At  last — 

**  Blessed  are  the  dead  who  die  in  the  Lord,"  she  softly 
murmured,  lifting  her  pale  face  ;  **  God  be  merciful  to  hia 
soul  I     Dear  Charley  I" 

"  He  died  like  a  saint,  Georgia  ;  he  expired  like  a  child 
falling  asleep  in  his  mother's  arms,  with  a  smile  on  his  lips  ; 
death  had  no  terror  for  him." 

"  Were  you  with  him,  Richmond  V 

"  Yes — thank  God  !  Oh,  Georgia,  I  had  hardened  my 
heart  against  him,  and  yet  when  I  would  pass  him  on  the 
street — I  did  often  pass  him,  Georgia — every  feeling  in  my 
heart  would  be  stirred,  and  no  words  can  tell  how  I  would 
yearn  for  him,  my  own,  my  only  brother.  I  saw  he  was 
dying  day  by  day,  and  yet  pride — that  curse,  that  bane  that 
has  dogged  me  like  an  evil  spirit  from  childhood  up — 
would  not  let  me  step  over  the  barrier  I  myself  had  raised, 
and  sue  for  forgiveness.  At  last  came  the  news  that  he  was 
sick  unto  death,  and  then  I  could  hold  out  no  longer.  I 
went,  Georgia — went  in  time  to  hear  him  forgive  me,  and 
to  see  him  die.  Oh,  Georgia,  I  shall  never  forget  it — never  I 
Oh,  Charley,  my  gay,  thoughtless,  light-hearted  brother  !  to 
think  you  should  be  lying  in  that  far-off  church-yard,  Aold 
and  dead." 

"  Grieve  not,  my  husband,"  said  Georgia,  earnestly,  aa 
sbe  laid  her  hand  on  his,  "  but  look  forward  to  a  happy 
meeting  in  heaven.  And  now  of  others — your  mother, 
Richmond  ?" 

"  Is  dead,  too.  Oh,  Georgia,  she  wronged  you.  Cm 
you  ever  forgive  her  ?" 


ittOMlilUtmm 


**^FTER    TEAJiS    AND     WEEPING." 


87? 


Cm 


"Yes,  as  freely  aud  fully  as  I  hope  to  be  forgiven. 
May  she  rest  in  peace  !     And  your  cousin,  Richmond." 

She  smiled  slightly,  and  Richmond  met  her  bright 
glance  with  a  sort  of  honest  shame. 

"  I  feel  like  going  down  on  my  knees  to  you,  Georgia, 
when  that  name  is  mentioned.  She  is  well— or  was  when 
1  saw  her  last — and  safely  married.*' 

"  Indeed  I     To  whom,  pray  ?" 

Richmond  laughed. 

"  Do  you  remember  Mr.  Lester,  of  foppish  memory,  who 
made  one  of  that  party  to  Richmond  House  two  years  ago 
— *  Aw,  weally  such  a  boah  * " — and  Richmond  mimicked 
him  to  perfection. 

"  What  a  shame  !"  said  Georgia,  laughing ;  "  of  course 
I  remember  him.  Is  it  possible  she  has  married  that  little 
dandy  ?" 

"  That  she  has,  and  a  precious  life  she  leads  him,  if  all 
Curtis  says  be  true,  for  I  never  go  there  myself.  The  gray 
mare  in  that  stable  is  decidedly  the  better  horse." 

**  So  I  should  imagine.  But  where  is  Miss  Reid  ?  Mr. 
Lester  used  to  be  tender  in  that  quarter,  if  I  remember 
right." 

"  Oh,  yes  :  bat  she  married  Gleason — Lieutenant  Glea- 
Bon,  you  know.  That  gallant  officer  proposed,  and  Miss 
Reid  found  it  too  much  trouble  to  refuse,  so  she  became 
Mrs.  Gleason  the  second." 

"  Well,  I  wish  them  joy,  all.  How  strangely  things 
turn  out  in  this  world,  don't  they,  Richmond  ?" 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  R'shmond,  laughingly,  "  rather  ••— 
your  finding  that  unexpected  brother,  for  instance.  But 
you  don't  ask  for  your  old  friends  in  Bumfield — have  jon 
forgotten  them,  Georgia  Y* 


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"AFIBR    TEARS    AUTD    WEEPlNe." 


"  Forgotten  them  !     Oh,  Richmond.** 

"  Well,  don't  look  so  reproachfully  ;  you  know  I  didn't 
mean  it.     You  want  to  go  and  see  them,  I  suppose  ?'* 

"  Oh,  indeed  I  do.  Dear  Miss  Jerusha,  and  dear  little 
Emily,  and '* 

"  Dear  little  Betsey  I*eriwinkle,'*  interposed  Richmond. 

"  Yes  ;  just  so,'*  said  Georgia,  resolutely ;  "  a  really 
good  friend  of  mine  was  Betsey,  and  very  intimate  w^e  wer& 
Yes,  I  want  to  see  them  all ;  when  will  you  take  me  there. 
Richmond  ?** 

"  In  one  week  from  this,  Georgia  ;  I  cannot  get  away 
before  ;  and  then,  with  your  brother,  we  wiU  make  a  pil- 
grimage to  Burnfield,  and  you  can  look  once  more  at  the 
*  auld  boose  at  hame.*  You  will  have  to  go  down  on  your 
knees  and  intercede  for  me  with  Miss  Jerusha,  or  she  will 
never  forgive  me  for  the  way  I  behaved  to  her  darling.** 

"  Oh,  how  I  long  to  go  back  there  again  !  Now  that 
the  time  is  near,  I  feel  twice  as  impatient  as  I  did  before. 
A  whole  week !    I  wonder  if  it  will  ever  pass.** 

But  it  did  pass,  and  another,  too,  and  busy  weeks  they 
were  with  the  governor  and  his  lady.  The  nine  days*  won- 
der of  her  appearance  had  scarcely  yet  passed  away  when 

Mr.   and   Mrs.   Wildair  and   Mr.  Randall  left  B ,  en 

route  for  the  little  "  one-horse  '*  town  of  Burnfield. 

A  fairer  day  never  came  out  of  the  sky  than  the  one 
that  heralded  Georgia*s  return  to  Burnfield — dear  old  Burn- 
field  !  fairer  in  her  eyes  than  Florence,  the  beautiful, 
brighter  than  Rome,  the  imperial,  for  her  home  was  there. 
Nothing  was  changed.  There  stood  Richmond  House,  the 
pride  and  boast  of  the  town  still,  there  was  the  pleasant 
home  of  Emily  Murray,  there  was  the  old  school-house 
where  her  stormy  girlhood  had  been  spent. 


•  AFTER    TEARS   AlfD    WEEPINQ."* 


m 


As  she  gazed,  she  lay  back  amid  the  onshions  of  the 
carriage  and  put  her  hand  before  her  face,  that  they  might 
not  see  how  deeply  she  was  moved.  Her  brother  looked  ont 
with  mingled  interest  and  curiosity,  and  with  a  dim  recol- 
lection of  the  few  wretched  days  and  nights  he  had  passed 
bere.  Kichmond  looked  on  the  familiar  objects  with  min- 
gled gladness  and  remorse,  and  recollected,  with  many 
strange  emotions,  that  the  last  time  he  had  entered  Bum- 
field  it  had  been  with  his  bride,  as  they  returned  from  their 
brief  city  tour.  Only  two  years  since  then,  and  what 
changes  had  taken  place!  Mr.  Dick  Curtis,  who  had 
insisted  on  making  one  of  their  party,  and  positively 
refused  to  take  no  for  an  answer,  was  of  them  all  the  only 
one  perfectly  unmoved,  and  sat  looking  at  the  familiar 
landmarks  as  they  drove  past,  with  a  face  of  grave  ap- 
proval. 

"  Fine  place,  sir — fine  place,"  said  Mr.  Curtis,  with  a 
wave  of  his  hand  ;  ^  considerable  of  a  town  is  Bnmfield,  eh, 
Randall  ?  Not  equal  to  Paris,  you  know,  or  Lapland,  or 
the  great  St.  Bernard,  or  any  of  the  other  tremendous  cities, 
but  a  pretty  tall  place  considering,  and  a  real,  genuine  Yan- 
kee town.  And  then  the  produce — I  defy  the  world  to  raise 
such  girls,  and  boys,  and  pumpkins  as  they  do  in  Bnmfield. 
I  defy  'em  to  do  it,  sir  !  Look  at  that  young  lad^  ♦here,  in 
the  pink  sun-bonnet  and  red  cheeks,  round  as  a  cask  of  lager 
beer,  and  sweet  as  a  cart-load  of  summer  cherries — there's 
a  specimen  of  American  ingenuity  for  you  I  Could  they 
surpass  that  in  Constantinople  or  the  city  of  Dublin,  or  tny 
other  distant  or  impossible  region  ?  No,  sir ;  they  couldn't. 
I  defy  'em  to  do  it,  sir  !  Yes,  I  repeat  it,"  said  Mr.  Curtis, 
striking  his  knee  with  his  hand,  and  glaring  round  fero- 
ciously at  the  company  generally,  **  I  defy  'em  to  do  it,  sir." 


m 


"AFTER    TEARS    AND    WEEPING," 


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Mr  Curtis  was  as  fierce  as  an  African  lion,  so  everybody 
immediately  settled  down  and  looked  serious. 

"  The  notion,"  said  Mr.  Curtis,  folding  his  arms  and 
iurveying  his  three  companions  in  haughty  disgust,  "  that 
they  can  raise  as  good-looking  people  in  any  other  quarter 
of  the  world  as  they  can  in  these  here  blessed  United  States. 
Look  at  me  now,"  said  Mr.  Curtis,  drawing  himself  up  till 
his  suspenders  snapped,  "/*m  a  specimen  !  Mr.  Randall, 
my  young  friend,  you  have  traveled,  you  have  crossed  that 
§mall  pond,  the  Atlantic,  and  have  become  personally  ac- 
quainted with  all  the  great  guns  of  Europe,  from  the  Hot- 
tentots of  Portugal  to  the  people  of  *  that  beautiful  city 
called  Cork,*  and  now  I  ask  you  as  an  enlightened  citizen 
and  fellow  sinner,  did  you  ever,  in  all  your  wanderings, 
clap  your  two  eyes  on  a  better-looking  young  man  than  the 
individual  now  addressing  you  ?  Don't  answer  hastily— 
take  time  for  reflection.  You  know  you  didn't — you  know 
you  didn't ;  the  thing's  impossible.'' 

"Mr.  Curtis  must  be  the  best  judge  of  his  own  surpass- 
ing beauty,"  said  Mr.  Randall,  politely  ;  "  if  he  will  hold 
me  excused,  I  would  rather  not  give  an  opinion  on  the  sub- 
ject." 

"  Welcome  to  Richmond  House,"  said  Mr.  Wildair,  at 
the  carriage  rolled  up  the  avenue.  "  And  now,  gentlemen, 
I  will  leave  you  here  for  the  present,  while  Mrs.  Wildtii 
goes  to  see  her  former  guardian.  Miss  Jerusha  Skamp." 

"  Perhaps  I  had  better  go  alone,  Richmond,"  sai<i  Geor* 
gia,  hesitatingly.     "  Our  first  meeting " 

"  Had  better  be  unwitnessed  ;  that  is  true  enough," 
said  Richmond.  "  Well,  John  will  drive  you  down.  Shall 
I  call  for  you  in  person  ?" 

"  If  Miss  Jerusha  consents  to  forgi/e  yon,  I  shall  send 


**  AFTER    TEAB8    AND    WEEPlN&r 


«. 


G«or' 


for  ycm,  if  Fly  is  still  in  the  land  of  the  living,"  said  Qeoi 
gia,  smiling.     "  Good-by,   gentlemen ;"    and  kissing  t«* 
hand,  and  laughing  at  Mr.  Curtis,  who  nearly  turned  ik 
somerset   in  his  profound  genuflexion,  she  was  whirle<] 
away  toward  the  cottage. 

Yes,  there  it  stood  still,  the  same  old  brown,  low-roofed 
little  homestead.  How  different  was  this  visit  to  it  to 
what  had  been  her  last.  There  was  her  own  little  room 
under  the  roof,  and  there,  in  the  broad  window-sill,  basking 
in  the  broader  sunshine,  lay  Betsey  Perriwinkle  and  one  of 
her  numerous  family,  lazily  blinking  their  sleepy  eyes. 

Georgia's  heart  beat  fast  as  she  leaped  out  of  the  car- 
riage and  walked  slowly  toward  the  house.  Gathering  the 
sweeping  folds  of  her  purple  satin  dress  in  one  hand,  she 
rapped  timidly,  faltering  at  the  door. 

It  was  opened  by  Fly — yes,  it  was  Fly,  no  doubt  about 
it — who  opened  her  eyes  and  jumped  back  with  a  screech 
when  she  saw  who  it  was. 

"  Hush,  Fly  !  How  do  you  do  ?"  said  Georgia,  tapping 
her  black  cheek,  "  Is  Miss  Jerusha  in  ?" 

But  Fly,  in  her  astonishment  and  consternation,  waf 
incapable  of  speech  ;  and  smiling  at  her  stunned  look, 
Georgia  swept  past  and  entered  the  "best  room." 

There  it  was,  still  unchanged,  and  there,  in  her  rooking- 
chair  in  the  chimney-corner,  knitting  away,  sat  Miss  Jeru- 
sha, unchanged,  too.  Old  Father  Time  seemed  to  have  no 
power  over  her  iron  frame.  She  did  not  hear  Georgia's 
noiseless  entrance,  and  it  was  only  when  a  bright  vision  in 
glittering  robes  of  silk  and  velvet,  with  dark  tearful  eyes 
and  sadly  smiling  lips,  knelt  at  her  feet,  and  two  white 
youthful  arms,  with  gold  bracelets  flashing  thereon, 
encircled  her  waist,  and  a  sweet,   vibrating  voice  softly 


M 


I 


li 
111 


*' LAST  SCENE    OF  ALL,'' 

murmared,  "  Dear,  dear,  Miss  Jerusha/*  that  she  looked 
up. 

Looked  np,  with  a  wild  ory,  and  half  arose,  then  fell 
back  in  her  seat,  and  flinging  her  arms  round  her  neck,  fell 
on  her  shoulder  with  one  loud  passionate  cry  of  ''Qeorgia  f 
Gaorgia !" 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


« 


LAST    SOBNB    OF    ALL.' 


"I  have  seen  one  whose  eloquence  commanding, 
Roused  the  rich  echoes  of  the  human  breast  ; 
The  blandishments  of  wealth  and  ease  withstanding, 
That  hope  might  reach  the  suffering  and  oppressed. 

"And  by  his  side  there  moved  a  form  of  beauty, 
Strewing  sweet  flowers  along  his  path  of  life, 
And  looking  up  with  meek  and  love-bent  duty — 
I  caMed  her  angel,  but  he  called  her  wife." 


Aaox. 


jONG  and  cool  lay  the  shadows  on  the  grass,  one 
by  one  the  bright,  beautiful  stars  arose  in  th« 
9ky,  up  and  up  sailed  the  "  lady  moon,'*  smil- 
ing down  with  her  serene  face  on  the  trio  sit- 
ting in  the  moonlight  in  the  humble  parlor  of  that  little 
cot  by  the  sea 

No  light  but  that  of  the  cloudless  moon,  no  light  but 
the  beaming  glances  from  eyes  bright  with  joy — no  other 
light  was  needed.  By  Miss  Jerusha's  side  sat  Georgia — 
not  Georgia,  the  radiant  vision  of  the  ball-room,  Juno-lik« 
in  her  queenly  beauty,  but  the  humble,  gentle  .lovmg  girl. 


'LAST   BCENm    OF  ALL.'' 


meek  in  her  great  happiness.  One  wrinkled  ye.low  hand  of 
the  venerable  spinster  lay  in  the  small  dark  hands  blazing 
with  gems,  and  held  them  fast  as  if  she  would  have  held 
them  there  forever,  while  her  eyes  never  fo^  an  instant 
wandered  from  the  sweet  smiling  face. 

And  at  Georgia's  feet  knelt  another — a  vision  in  robef 
snowy  white,  with  the  sweetest,  fairest  face  ever  sun  shon« 
or  moon  beamed  on — one  who  looked  like  a  stray  seraph  in 
her  white  garments,  and  floating  golden  curls,  and  sweet, 
beautiful  violet  eyes.  Dear  little  Emily  Murray,  sweeter 
and  fairer  than  ever  she  looked  nestling  there,  crying  and 
laughing  together,  and  clinging  to  Georgia  as  though  she 
would  never  let  her  go  again. 

"  And  to  think  you  should  have  seen  so  much,  and 
come  through  such  strange  scenes  I"  sobbed  Emily,  laugh- 
ing at  the  same  time  ;  '*  to  think  you  should  have  found  a 
brother,  and  traveled  all  over  Europe,  and  then  come  back 
and  found  yourself  the  wife  of  the  greatest  man  of  the 
age  !  Oh,  dear  me  !"  said  little  Emily,  laughing  and  swal- 
lowing a  sob,  <*  it  is  8o  funny  and  so  strange  to  find  our 
Georgia  back  here  in  the  old  cottage  again.*' 

"  But  it's  very  nice — now  ain't  it,  Emily  ?"  said  Misi 
Jerusha,  complacently. 

"  Nice  t  I  guess  it  is,"  said  Emily,  clasping  Georgia 
tighter.  "  Oh,  Georgia  !  I've  lain  awake  night  after  night, 
crying  and  thinking  about  you,  and  wondering  what  had 
become  of  you,  and  oh  t  so  frightened  lest  you  should  be 
dead — drowned,  or  frozen,  or  something  ;  and  in  the  stormy 
nights  all  that  long  winter  I  never  could  sleep  'or  fear  you 
might  be  out  in  the  frost  and  cold,  without  a  home  oi 
friends.  Oh,  Georgia  I  I  did  feel  so  restless  and  miserable 
all  that  winter,  for  fear,  while  I  was  warm  and  sheltered. 


m 


884 


**LAaT   SCENE    OF   ALLP 


you  might  be  lying  in  the  bleak  etreets  oold  and  dead." 
And  little  Emily  sobbed. 

"  Dear  little  Emily  !"  said  Georgia,  kissing  her. 

*'  And,  oh,  it  is  so  nice  to  think  you  have  become  a 
deTOUt  Christian,"  said  Emily,  changing  from  sobbing  to 
laughing  again,  "  and  I  am  so  glad.  Oh,  dear  me  !  how 
funny  everything  happens,  to  be  3ure.  And  Charley  Wil- 
dair,  too,"  pursued  Emily  ;  "  I  am  sure  I  never  thought 
he  would  be  a  clergyman  ;  but  I  am  very,  very  glad.  Oh, 
I  am  so  happy,"  said  Emily,  laughing,  and  squeezing  Geor- 
gia's waist,  "  that  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  myself." 

"  Nor  me  neither,  I  don't  now,  railly,"  said  Miss  Jerusha, 
who  was  the  very  picture  of  composure. 

*'  Dear  Miss  Jerusha,"  said  Georgia  caressingly,  "  and 
won't  you  forgive  Richmond — he  really  does  not  merit  your 
anger,  and  wants  to  be  forgiven  and  be  friends  with  you 
again  §o  much.     Please  do." 

*'  Oh,  yon  must,  Miss  Jerusha,  you  know,"  said  Emily, 
seizing  her  other  hand,  and  putting  her  happy  little  face 
close  up  to  hers,  "  it  won't  do  to  refuse  a  governor  your 
pardon.  You  must  forgive  him,  please — won't  you.  Miss 
Jerusha?" 

<'  Well,  now,  I  don't  know,"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  relent* 
ingly,  "  he  did  treat  you  dreffuUy,  Georgey,  but " 

"  No,  he  didn't  Miss  Jerusha — just  served  her  right,** 
■aid  Emily,  *'  Georgia  was  naughty,  I  know,  and  didn't  be- 
have well.  There,  she  forgives  him — look,  she's  going  to 
laugh.    Oh,  say  yes.  Miss  Jerusha." 

"  Well,  *yM'  then  ;  does  that  please  yon  ?"  said  Miss  Jer- 
usha, breaking  into  a  grim  smile. 

^'  Dear  Miss  Jerusha,  accept  my  best  thanks  for  that," 
said  Georgia,  with  radiant  face,  "  and  now,  may  I  send  Flj 


"LAST    SCENE    <.F    ALL." 


380 


np  for  him  to  Richmond  House,  that  h«  may  hear  yo  ;t 
forgiveness  from  your  own  lips?'* 

"  Well,  yes,  I  s'poso  so,"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  rubbing  hor 
iiose  ;  "  and  see  here,  Goorgey,  while  you're  about  it,  I 
r«!ckon  you  might  as  well  send  for  that  there  brother  o' 
your'n  too  ;  I  turned  him  out  o'  doors  onoe,  and  while  I'm 
forgiving  that  there  graceless  husband  o*  your'n,  I  guess  I'll 
get  him  to  forgive  me." 

Georgia  laughed,  and  went  out  to  the  kitchen  to  de- 
spatch Fly  oflp  on  the  errand. 

"  Perhaps  I  had  better  go,"  said  Emily,  timidly,  "  I — I 
think  I'd  rather.  It's  so  long  since  I  met  Mr.  Wildair  that 
f  don't  like  to  now." 

"Pooh,  nonsense,"  said  Georgia  laughing,  "don't  like  to 
meet  Mr.  Wildair,  indeed  !  Not  a  step  shall  you  go  until 
they  come,  and  besides,  I  want  to  make  you  acquainted 
with  my  poet  brother,  who  is  a  handsome  fellow  !"  and 
Georgia's  eyes  sparkled. 

"Does  he  look  like  you,  Georgia?"  said  Emily,  medi- 
tatively. 

"  Not  a  bit ;  better  looking,"  smiled  Georgia.  "  And 
oh,  Em,  there's  a  particular  friend  of  yours  np  at  the  hall| 
a  certain  Mr.  Curtis,  if  you  remember  him." 

"He's  not  a  particular  friend  of  mine,"  said  Emily, 
pouting  and  blushing.  "  I  don't  know  anything  about  him. 
T  wish  he  hadn't  come." 

"  How  flattered  he  would  feel  if  he  heard  that.  Yon 
refused  him,  didn't  you,  Emily  ?'' 

"  Oh,  Georgia,  don't  tease,"  said  Emily,  springing  up 
and  turning  half  pettishly  away. 

Georgia  laughed,  and  silence  for  awhile  fell  on  all  three, 
broken  at  last  by  the  sound  of  carriage  wheels,  and  the  next 
17 


LAS!    SCiuNE    OF  ALL."* 


Pi. 


ri- 


■i-/ 


moment  two  tall  gentlcraan  stood  in  the  little  moonlit  par- 
lor with  their  hats  off,  and  one  of  them  stepping  np  to 
Miss  Jerusha,  extended  his  hand,  and  etaid,  with  a  amile  ; 

"  Well,  Miss  Jerusha,  am  I  forgiven  at  last  ?'* 

There  was  no  resisting  that  frank  tone  and  pleasant 
smile.  Miss  Jerusha  looked  meditatively  at  his  profferoU 
hand  a  moment,  and  then  grasped  it  with  an  energy  that 
made  the  governor  of  B wince,  as  she  exclaimed  : 

**  Well  now,  I  railly  don't  think  I  ought,  but  Georgey 
says  1  shall  hev  to,  and  I  s'pose  I've  got  to  mind  h«r.  Mr. 
Wildair,  how  d'ye  du  ?  I'm  rail  glad  to  hear  they've  made 
a  governor  of  you,  and  I  hope  you'll  behave  better  for  the 
future,  and  be  good  to  Georgey." 

"  I  shall  certainly  try  to  ;  but,  Miss  Jerusha,  I  was  al- 
most as  much  sinned  against  as  sinning.  That  malioious 
little  cousin  of  mine,  you  know " 

"  Oh,  I  know  ;  Georgey  told  me.  Well,  she  won't  inter- 
fere again,  I  reckon — a  impident  little  whipper-snapper, 
speaking  as  sassy  to  Georgey  as  if  she  was  mistress  herself, 
and  allers  gnnnin'  like  a  chessy  cat." 

**  And  has  Miss  Jerusha  no  greeting  for  me  ?  Has  she 
forgotten  the  little  boy  who  paid  her  a  visit  one  stormy 
Christmas  eve  long  ago  ?"  said  Warren,  as  he  advanced 
smilingly,  shaking  back  his  dark,  clustering  hair. 

**  My  conscience  I  you  ain't  he,  are  you  ?  Tall  as  a  flagv 
staff,  I  declare  !  Forget  you — no  I  guess  I  don't.  I  did 
behave  most  dreadfully  that  night  to  turn  you  out  j  but 
gracious  I  I  knew  you  wouldn't  freeze  or  nothin',  and 
neither  you  did,  you  see." 

"  No  I  am  frost-proof,"  said  Warren,  laughing  ;  "  but  I 
owe  you  a  long  debt  of  gratitude  for  the  care  you  took  of 
this  wild  sister  of  mine  all  those  years,  Miss  Jerusha. 


"LAST   SCRlfE    or    ALL* 


887 


i ' 


Corao,"  he  said,  extending  his  hand,  "  wo  ^hall  bo  good 
friends  now,  shall  we  noi  ?" 
I  "  That  we  shall,"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  cordially  shaking 

:he  hand  he  extended.  "My,  to  think  the  little  fcller  I 
turned  out  that  night  should  come  back  8:::h  a  six-footer, 
and  rail  good-looking,  too,  now  ain't  ho,  Emily  ?  Wiiy, 
you  weren't  the  size  of  a  well-grown  doughnut  thru,  \  on 
know.  Good  gracious  I  jist  to  think  how  funny  things  wih 
turn  out.  'Clare  to  man,  if  it  ain't  the  queerest  world  1 
ever  heerd  tell  of  !" 

Miss  Jerusha  wiped  her  spectacles  meditatively,  and 
gave  a  small,  mottled  kitten  who  cauie  purring  round  her 
a  thoughtful  kick. 

"  Hallo  1"  said  Richmond,  picking  it  up.  "  One  of  Betsey 
Periwinkle's.  How  is  that  intelligent  domestic  quadruped, 
Miss  Jerusha  ?  She  and  I  used  to  be  tremendous  friends 
long  ago,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  I  know  ;  slif  was  no  ways  proud,  and  made  friends 
with  most  people,"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  complacently ; 
that's  Betsey's  youngest.  She's  raised  several  small  fami- 
lies since,  and  is  beginning  to  fall  into  the  old  ages  o'  life 
now.  Ah,  well  I  sich  things  must  be  expected  ;  exerybody 
gets  old,  you  know — even  Betsey  Periwinkle." 

Very  swiftly  passed  that  evening.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
old  happy  days  had  come  back — those  unclouded  days, 
when  no  shadow  of  the  darkness  to  come  had  yet  risen  on 
horizon.  Only  one  face  was  needed  there  to  complete  the 
circle,  one  voice  to  complete  the  charm  ;  but  that  bright 
young  head  lay  low  now,  the  tall  grass  waved  over  that 
familiar  face,  and  that  clear,  spirited  voice  was  silenced 
forever.    Tears  sprang  to  Miss  Jerusha's  hard  gray  eyei, 


S88 


LAST   SCENE    OF   ALL: 


Afi  she  listened  lo  the  tale  of  the  noble  life  and  early  deatb 
of  her  light-heai:ted  favorite,  and  little  Emily  sobbed. 

"  You  must  give  up  this  little  cottage,  Miss  Jerusha," 
said  Richmond,  before  ihey  left  that  evening,  "  and  come 
and  live  with  Georgia  and  me.  Once  upon  a  time  you 
admired  Richmond  House,  and  now  you  must  make  it  your 
home." 

"  Do,  Miss  Jerusha  !  Oh,  dear  Miss  Jerusha,  do  !"  cried 
Georgia,  eagerly  ;  "  it  will  make  me  so  happy  to  have  you 
always  near  me.  And  you  shall  bring  Fly  and  Betsey  Per- 
iwinkle and  all  the  little  Betseys,  and  we  will  be  ever  so 
happy  together  ' 

But  Miss  Jerusha  shook  her  head. 

"  Mr.  Richmond,  Tni  obliged  to  you,  and  you,  too,  Geor- 
gey,  but  I  sha'n't  leave  the  old  homestead  while  I  live. 
My  father  and  mother,  and  all  our  folks,  since  the  time  of 
the  revolution  long  ago,  hev  lived  and  died  here,  and  I 
don't  want  to  be  the  first  to  leave  it.  I  can  see  you  every 
day  as  long  as  you're  in  Bui  nfield  ;  and  whether  I  went  to 
live  with  yon  or  not  I  wouldn't  go  with  you  to  the  city — a 
noisy,  nasty  place !  So,  I  reckon  I  shall  keep  on  living 
here  ;  very  much  obliged  to  you  both  at  the  same  time,  as 
I  said  afore." 

And  from  this  resolution  nothing  could  move  her — no 
amount  of  coaxing  could  induce  her  to  depart  from  it. 
The  laws  of  the  Medes  and  Persians  might  be  changed  but 
Miss  Jerusha  Skamp's  determination  never  I 

It  was  late  when  they  returned  to  Richmond  House, 
where  they  found  Mr.  Curtis  sc lacing  himself  with  a  cigar ; 
his  chair  tipped  back  and  his  heels  reposing  on  the  low 
marble  mantel,  and  yawning  disconsolately  as  he  glaaced 
drearily  over  the Burnjield  Mecorder, 


e 


death 

• 

come 
you 
your 


"LAST   avENE    OF   ALL,* 


**  Got  back,  have  you  ?"  he  said,  looking  up  is  our  party 
entered ;  "  and  time,  I  should  say.  What  precious  soft 
•eats  your  excellency  and  the  rest  of  you  must  have  foand 
in  Miss  Jerusha's.  Quarter  to  twelve,  as  I  am  a  sinrer  !  I 
wonder  Miss  Skamp  didn't  turn  you  out.  How  is  that  aa 
cient  vestal  ?" 

"In  excellent  health,"  replied  Richmond, throwing  him- 
self on  a  lounge,  "  and  perfectly  unchanged  since  you  saw 
her  last.  By  the  way,  there  was  a  young  friend  of  yours 
there,  Dick." 

"Ah,  was  there?"  said  Mr.  Curtis,  twisting  round  sud- 
denly in  his  chair,  and  turning  very  red.  "Aw — Bob 
Thompson,  I  daresay." 

"  Yes,  if  Bob  Thompson  is  fiv».  feet  three  inches  high, 
and  has  blue  eyes,  pink  cheeks,  yellow  curls,  and  white 
forehead,  ditto  a  dress,  and  is  in  the  habit  of  wearing  gold 
bracelets,  and  answering  to  the  pretty  name  of  Emily." 

"Ah — Miss  Murray,"  said  Mr.  Curtis,  thrusting  his 
hands  abruptly  into  his  pockets,  and  beginning,  without  the 
smallest  provocation,  to  whistle  violently.  "  Nice  little 
girl  I     How  is  she?" 

"  Ask  Randall,"  said  Richmond,  with  a  slight  laugh  and 
a  malicious  glance  toward  the  gentleman  in  question.  "  lie 
had  Emily  pretty  much  to  himself  all  the  evening — took 
summary  possession  of  the  young  lady,  and  the  moment  he 
was  introduced  began  to  be  as  fascinating  as  he  knew  how. 
Irresistible  people  are  poets.     Ask  him." 

Instead  of  asking  him,  however,  Mr.  Curtis  favored  the 
handsome  poet  with  a  feiiKjious  scowl,  and  then,  flinging 
away  Lis  Havana,  stalked  out  of  the  room  with  tragio 
strides  that  would  have  made  his  fort  me  on  the  stage. 


IM 


880 


"LAST    SCENE    OF    ALL 


i 


Mr.  Wildair  laughed,  and  Mr.  Randall  looked  i»fter  him 
with  a  slight  smile,  but  said  nothing. 

One  week  later  Georgia  learned  his  opinion.  Kmily  had 
been  speudmg  the  evening  at  the  hall,  and  had  just  gone 
home. 

"  What  a  dear  little  angel  she  is  I"  exclaimed  Georgia  ; 
"  BO  sweet,  so  good,  so  gentle  and  loving.  Her  presence 
brightens  the  room  the  moment  she  enters,  like  a  ray  of 
suushine.  Darling  little  Emily !  how  I  love  her !  I  wiAh 
she  were  my  sister." 

Warren  smiled,  and  placing  a  hand  lightly  on  either 
shoulder,  looked  down  in  her  flushed,  enthusiastic  face. 

"  Belle  Georgia,"  he  said,  meaningly,  "  so  do  Z." 


And  now  lec  the  curtain  rise  once  more  ere  it  falls  again 
forever. 

Five  years  have  elapsed,  but  Bumficld  and  Richmond 
House  are  still  the  same ;  a  little  larger,  a  little  more  noisy, 
a  little  more  populous,  but  nothing  to  speak  of.  The 
march  of  improvement  does  not  get  ahead  very  fast  there. 

There  is  a  little  brown  cottage  standing  by  the  sea- 
shore, and  sitting  m  the  "  best  room "  is  an  elderly  lady 
knitting  away  as  if  the  fate  of  kingdoms  depended  on  it. 
Such  a  spotless  best  room  as  it  is  ;  not  a  speck  of  dust  to 
be  seen  anywhere,  the  very  covers  of  the  "  Pilgrim's  Prog- 
ress "  and  "  Robinson  Crusoe  "  fairly  glitter  with  cleanli- 
ness, and  it's  absolutely  dangerous  for  a  person  of  weak 
eyes  to  look  at  the  chairs  and  painted  floor,  so  perfectly 
lazzling  are  they.  The  old  lady  herself,  albeit  a  little  stiff 
and  prim  in  her  dress,  is  as  bright  as  a  new  penny,  and 
although  the  said  dress  would  at  the  present  day  be  called 


••  LAST   SCEl^E    OF    ALL.** 


9»1 


!r  him 


i 


I 


: 


somewhat  skimpy,  it  is  a  calico,  like  Joseph's  .oat  of  many 
odors,  and  she  is  fairly  gorgeous  in  it. 

A  demure,  well-mannered,  polite  animal  of  the  feline 
species  reposes  on  a  rug  at  her  feet,  and  blinks  a  pair  of 
intensely  green  eyes  in  the  sunshine  with  a  look  of  <^alm^ 
philosophical  happiness  beautiful  to  see.  Betsey  Peri  win- 
kle,  our  early  friend,  has  departed  this  life,  deeply  regretted 
by  a  'arge  and  respectable  circle  of  acquaintances,  and  was 
buried  in  state  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden,  and  the  one 
now  introduced  is  a  descendant  of  that  amiable  animal,  and 
as  such  no  doubt  will  be  cordially  welcomed. 

Out  in  the  kitchen  is  a  '*  cullud  pusson  "  of  the  female 
persuasion,  whose  black  face  glistens  with  happiness  and  a 
recent  application  of  yellow  soap,  who  sits  chewing  gum 
and  sewing  at  a  new  turban  with  a  look  of  contentment. 

But  there  is  one  other  inmate  of  that  best  room — a 
stranger  to  you,  rea<ier,  whom  I  now  hasten  to  introduce. 
It  is  a  young  lady  of  some  three  years  old,  who  goes  skip- 
ping along,  alternately  tumbling  down,  and  after  emitting 
one  or  two  shrill  yells,  which  she  considers  necessary  to 
draw  attention  to  the  clever  way  in  which  the  fall  was 
managed,  crawls  up  again  and  resumes  her  journey  round 
the  room,  until  she  thinks  proper  to  undergo  another  upset. 

This  small  individual,  not  to  be  mysterious,  is  Miss 
Georgia  Wildair,  eldest  daughter  of  his  excellency,  Rich- 
mond Wildair,  of  Richmond  Hoase.  A  pocket  edition  of 
our  early  friend  Georgia  she  is,  with  the  same  hot,  fiery 
temper,  but  never  will  it  lead  her  into  such  trouble  as  her 
mother's  has  done,  for  the  restraining  band  of  religion  will 
hold  her  back,  and  little  Miss  Wildair,  the  heiress,  will  be 
taught  what  our  Georgia  ner^r  was,  to  "  Remember  her 
Creator  in  the  days  of  her  youth  ;"  and  this  little  lady  is 


899 


**LABT   SCENE    OF    ALL"* 


1 1 


the  pride  and  darling  of  Mfes  Jerusba's  heart,  and  spends, 
while  papa  and  mamma  rusticate  in  Burnfield,  a  great  deal 
more  of  her  time  in  the  cottage  than  in  the  hall,  and  enjoys 
herself  hugely  with  Fly  and  Betsey  Periwinkle. 

And  now,  reader,  to  that  worthy  cat,  to  the  sable  haud- 
raaiden,  to  the  little  heiress,  and  to  our  old  friend  Mias 
Jerusha  Glory  Ann  Skamp,  you  and  I  must  bid  farewell. 

A  new  scene  rises  before  us.  A  large  and  elegantly 
furnished  parlor,  where  pictures,  and  statuary,  and  curtains, 
and  lounges,  and  last,  but  not  least,  a  genial  fire,  make 
everything  at  once  graceful  and  home-like.  A  lady,  young 
and  beautiful,  but  with  a  calm,  chastened  soi  t  of  beauty , 
and  a  soft,  subdued  smile,  sits  in  a  low  nursing-chaii 
and  holds  a  baby^  evidently  quite  a  recent  prize,  who 
lies  making  frantic  eflForts  to  swallow  its  own  little, 
fat  fists,  and  hitting  its  invisible  little  nose  desperate 
blows  in  the  vain  endeavor.  This  young  gentleman  is 
Master  Richmond  Wildair,  while  in  "nurse's"  lap,  at 
a  little  distance,  his  eldest  brother  Master  Charley,  a 
youth  of  some  sixteen  months,  is  jumping  and  crow- 
ing, and  evidently  having  a  heap  of  fun  all  to  him- 
eelf.  These  manifestations  of  delight  at  last  grow  so 
obstreperous  that  a  handsome,  stately  gentleman  who  lies 
on  a  sofa  near,  reading  the  paper,  looks  up  with  a  smile. 

"  What  a  noisy  youth  this  boy  of  yours  is,  Georgia  I" 
he  says,  looking  at  Master  Charley  ;  "  he  is  evidently  bent 
on  making  himself  heard  ki  this  world  Come  Charley,  be 
quiet ;  papa  can't  read." 

But  Charley,  who  had  no  intention  of  being  bound  over 
to  keep  the  peace,  no  sooner  hears  papa's  voice  than,  with 
a  crow  an  octave  higher  than  any  of  its  predeoesson, 
he  holds  out  his  arms  and  lisps  : 


i 


"LAST    SCENE    OF   ALL.*' 


j?m 


**  Papa,  tate  Tarley  I  papa,  tate  Tarley  I'^ 

"Now  do  put  down  that  stupid  paper,  Richmond,  and 
take  poor  *  Tarley,* "  says  Georgia,  looking  up  with  her 
bright  smile.     "  Bring  him  over,  nurse 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  must,"  Richtiiond  says,  resigning 
himself  as  &  man  always  must  In  such  cases,  and  holding 
out  his  arms  to  "  Tarley,"  who,  with  an  exultant  crow, 
leaps  in  and  immediately  buries  two  chubby  little  bands  11 
papa's  hair.     "  Where's  Georgia  ?" 

"Ob,  down  at  the  cottage,  of  course,"  says  the  lady^ 
laughing ;  "  when  is  Georgia  ever  to  be  found  anywhere, 
else  ?  Dear  Miss  Jerusha  1  it  does  make  her  so  happy  to 
have  her  there  ;  so  while  we  live  in  Burnfield  we  may  as 
well  let  her  stay  there." 

"  Oh,  certainly — certainly,"  replies  Richmond,  with  tears 
in  his  eyes  as  Master  "  Tarley  "  gives  an  unusually  v^igoroue 
pull  to  his  scalp-lock.  "  And  by  the  way,  my  dear,  guess 
from  whom  I  heard  to-day  ?" 

«  Who— Warren  ?"  inquires  Georgia  eagerly. 

"No— Curtis,"  says  his  excellency,  laughing.  "Pooi 
Dick's  done  for  at  last.  Miss  Maggie  What's-her-namc 
Leonard,  the  one  with  the  curls  and  always  laughing,  has 
finished  him.  As  the  king  in  the  play  says,  *  I  could  have 
better  spared  a  better  man.' " 

"  Why,  you  don't  mean  to  say  he  ha^  married  her?" 
says  Georgia,  in  extreme  surprise.  Well,  I  am  surprised. 
Where  is  he  now  ?" 

"  Off  in  the  South  for  a  bridal  tour,  »i»d  then  he  will  re- 
turn and  resume  his  duties  as  my  secretary.  There  goes 
the  tea-bell.  Here,  nurse,  take  Master  *  Tarley.'  Come. 
Georgia." 

Look  with  me  on  aMothHr  scene,  reader.      The  beantifal 

17* 


g<9A 


*  LAST   SCENE    OF   ALL.' 


aoon  rides  high  over  the  blue  Adriatic  ;  the  bright  cicad* 
i'-'88  fiky  of  glorious  Italy  is  overhead,  that  sky  of  wbich 
poets  have  sung,  and  artists  have  dreamc'd,  and  old,  sweet 
romancers  have  pictured,  and  gazing  up  at  its  s(  r«.'ne  bc.iuty 
vith  uncovered  brow,  stands  a  poet  from  a  foreign  land, 
A'ith  his  blue-eyed  bride.  You  know  them  boUi ;  you  iioed 
no  introduction  ;  you  cannot  mistake  them,  for  the  loity 
mien  and  gallant  bearing  of  Warren,  and  the  soft  holy  blue 
tyes  and  seraphic  smile  of  Emily  are  unchanged.  Some 
♦lay  when  they  are  tired  wandering  under  the  storied  skies 
of  the  old  world,  they  will  come  back  to  the  land  of  their 
birth,  but  you  and  I  will  see  them  no  more. 

On  the  last  scene  of  all  let  the  curtain  rise  ere  it  drops 
again  forever. 

In  a  sunny  corner  of  a  sunny  cburch-yard,  where  the 
flweet  wild  roses  swing  in  the  soft  west  wind,  where  trees 
wave  and  birds  sing,  and  a  little  brook  near  murmurs 
dreamily  as  it  flows  along,  is  a  grave,  with  a  marble  cross 
above,  bearing  the  name  of  "  Charles  Wildair,"  and  under- 
neath the  inscription,  "  Blessed  are  the  dead  who  die  in  the 
Lord."  Tread  lightly,  reader ;  hold  your  breath  as  you 
gazb.     Kneel  and  pray  in  awe,  for  a  saint  lies  there. 

And  now  that  the  story  is  finished,  I  see  the  sagacious 
reader  pntting  on  his  spectacles  to  look  for  the  moral. 
Good  old  soul  I  With  the  help  of  a  microscope  he  may 
find  it  ;  may  Heaven  aid  him  in  his  search  ;  b  it  lest  Im 
should  fail,  I  must  decamp.    Reader,  adiea  I 


TBS  nvn. 


!<rT^HB  ART  OF  THB  PHOTOPLAY**  Is  a  condeaaed 
I  textbook  of  the  technical  knowledge  necessaiy  for 
^  tiie  preparation  and  atle  of  motion  picture  scenarios. 
More  than  35t000  photopUys  are  prodnced  annnally  In  the 
United  States.  The  woric  of  staff-wrlterti  Is  Insufficient 
Ftee4ance  writers  hare  greater  opportunities  than  erer 
before,  for  the  prododng  companies  can  not  secure  enough 
good  comedies  and  dramas  for  tiielr  needs.  The  first  edi- 
tion of  this  book  met  with  unusual  success.  Its  author,  now 
the  Director  General  of  Productions  for  tibe  Beaux  Arts  Film 
Corporation,  Is  the  highest  paid  scenario  writer  in  the  world, 
as  well  9M  being  a  successful  producing  manager.  Among  his 
sncceases  were  the  scenarios  for  the  spectacnltr  productions: 
**Robln  Hood,*''*The  Squaw  Man,*'  **The  Banker's  Daughter,** 
''The  Fire  KUig,**  ''Checkers,**  "The  Curse  of  Cocaine**  and 
'rriM  Kentocky  Derby.*' 


Mc. 


WHAT  THOSB  WHO  KHOW  HAVB  SAH): 

*Ib  aqr  opinka,  iMMd  1900  sfai  yma*  «zjMri«ioe  pKodadac  motioa  pictwMi* 
■■rtMe  Hide  Ban  b  tht  moie  capabk  Mrakrio  writer  b  Um  IniBiMM  today." 

(SifMd)  W.  F.  Hahdocx; 

PxodociBC  Dinctor  with  EdiMO,  Eclair,  AU  Star,  aad 
now  PrHidtnt,  Ifinor  lUm  Cdcpontfoo. 

*Mr.BdllMMithotw^My«iaipadpiMMitdayaadftttarapoiribffiaeao|tlie 
lldfviiC  PIctai*  bodbMi  wHh  reUdoa  lo  tlM  opportoidtiM  for  Nd  goo^ 

(Signed)  P.  KnoHBtxxT, 

MaMging  Dinctor,  ImiMrial  Fflm  Caiwpany,  Ltd., 

London,  Bnglaad. 


"Ta  ttnaa  who  wirii  toean  aome  d  the  moaejr  wUch  tht  moviag  pictase 
iolk  dJabone,  Enitaoe  Hale  Ball  peofioB  expect  and  Taluabb  advice." 

Nxw  You  Tdos  Kkvbw  ot  Books. 

"BeVa  Art  of  tihe  PhoCopiaj  pota  into  conoete  focm,  with  expert  rimplid^, 
the  aeoeta  ol  writing  phot^plasrs  which  appeal  to  the  nJlliona  of  Amerkaas 
who  attend  the  thcatxea  and  the  ptoducea  can  not  buy  enough  of  such  playa  to 
aatirfy  the  exhifaitoa.*'       (Signed)         Robskt  Lxb  JfAOUgB, 

NadoMl  Vke-Pneident.  Motion  Pictme 

Exhibitoff'a  Leagoe  of  America. 


in  peodacbg  a  dear  and  hdi^  cxpoaitionof  theaab^ 
(Signed)  Wx.  R.  Kavs. 

Editor  of  "The  Editor  »*— fc-  - 


''Yonhave 


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n  so  cents. 

Iif«  of  the 
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